


Threadbare

by MeriKG



Series: Threadbare [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: A/U, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, slave!Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slave!Blaine AU.  Blaine is a service-slave owned by a hotel.  He is available for rent as a courtesy to guests to entertain them during their stay.  His life is irrevocably changed one night when he is called to to serve by fashion designer Kurt Hummel.  Very Klaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU slavery exists and always has. I don’t go into a lot of back story on the why. It’s AU, go with it. This is primarily a Klaine story though several other original characters arrive later on. Finn is alive and well because I miss him. Thanks for reading!

Blaine walked down the long, tope-neutral corridor with his usual trepidation. As he approached the designated door his stomach began its familiar dance of nauseated twisting and his hands began to shake. Still, he was grateful for this opportunity. It had been two days since he'd last been able to eat and he refused to take anything from Santana until she healed enough to start working again.

Blaine just hoped this one wasn't as bad as his last call. He winced at the memory. The man had been middle aged and very obese; Blaine had been hard pressed not to gag from the smell of old sweat as he'd sucked him off as quickly and efficiently as he could. Still, the job had earned him a desperately needed meal token. 

Many large hotels offered additional services to guests who desired more than TV porn during their stay. If they had the inclination, guests could look through the menu of available slaves and for a nominal fee have whomever they wanted sent up with a simple phone call to the concierge desk. 

After the slave finished the call, they were given a token they could trade to the kitchen for access to the leftover food brought down from room service. It was always a gamble what and how much would be available, but the service slaves had become adept at tracking which times yielded the greatest amount of leftovers. If no one called for the slave, they didn't eat until they earned a token. On a good day, service slaves may be called on multiple times and could stockpile their tokens for leaner times. 

Typically, the women were more popular and tended to be called on much more frequently than their male counterparts. And given Blaine's dubious history with women, he tended to get even fewer calls then the other men. He'd likely have taken sick from starvation and been replaced long ago if not for Santana. For some reason the queen bitch among the service-slaves had taking a liking to Blaine and shared her meal tokens with him during his dry spells. But Santana's last client had severely beaten her face and she was out of commission until it healed. She would need every token she had saved to hold her over. 

Blaine squared his shoulders and knocked on the nondescript hotel door. He was determined to do whatever it took to satisfy this guest. If the guest called to compliment the service they received, the slave was given a bonus token and Blaine wanted badly to be able repay Santana.

"Come in," a light voice called, and Blaine realized the door had been propped so he could enter. The voice sounded young and Blaine desperately hoped for a younger adult this time. Most of his clients were on the wrong side of 40 and slightly scary. It was difficult to feign interest when you were cringing inside. At least he was usually required to give a blowjob or he was bent over some lateral surface so he didn't have to control his expression. He didn't know how the women managed.

Blaine entered the room cautiously and shut the door behind him. 

"Just a sec, I'll be right there," the same light voice called from the open door of the bathroom area, accompanied by the sound of the closet door closing. 

Blaine quickly knelt at the entryway in the position he'd been trained to: head down, hands on his knees with his thighs slightly spread for a more attractive view. He wore the standard skin-tight black pants and matching sleeve-less tee the male service slaves were typically dressed in. The clothes were non descript, didn't stain, and were easy to yank off. 

Blaine knew from multiple experiences that the stretchy tank top could be wrapped around his arms, binding them behind his back. He'd also learned that it was possible to tug free, but that led to an angry guest and a severe beating when he returned to the stable. It wasn't a mistake he'd repeated, no matter what was done to him once he was bound.

Blaine brought his focus back to the present as the owner of the voice emerged.

"You called down for me, Sir?" Blaine asked politely, his voice smooth and silky from long practice.

"Yeah, I did. You're Blaine, right?" the man asked. Blaine wanted to lift his head to look at the owner of the melodic voice, but kept his gaze at the man's feet. 

"I am, Sir. How may I serve you?" Blaine asked, the line tripping easily from his lips after countless repetition.

"You can start by getting up. Eye contact would be appreciated as well."

Blaine rose smoothly to his feet, ignoring the protest of achy muscles, and lifted his gaze to meet the guest's. 

"Of course, Sir. It's my plea..." The words died on Blaine's lips as he laid eyes on the Guest for the first time. He'd hoped for a younger man, one who had bathed recently if he was particularly lucky. The very last thing he could've anticipated was the angel in front of him. The Guest was indeed young, though his demeanor suggested he was older than his face appeared. He was slightly taller than Blaine, with a lean frame, narrow hips, porcelain-white skin that practically glowed, and the most amazing blue-grey eyes Blaine had ever seen. He stood tall and at ease with an amused smile while he waited for Blaine to finish speaking. 

Blaine blushed and hastily dropped his gaze, realizing he'd been staring. His knees started to buckle, automatically trying to kneel in submission to avoid pain. Blaine locked his legs, aborting the move. He’d already been ordered to stand and he didn't want to screw up any more than he already had. 

"I'm so sorry, Sir," Blaine spoke hastily, knowing he'd lost his seductive tone, but fear had robbed him of any hope for grace. "You, umm, aren't like the normal guests who call for me and I was taken by surprise." He chanced a glance upward to gauge the Guest's reaction. 

"Hey, relax, okay? I'm used to getting looks. It's fine. And I'm certainly am not going to object to being stared at by such a beautiful man." The Guest grinned, blushing faintly.

Blaine settled down slightly, his body slowly coming down from self-preservation mode. The Guest didn't seem angry or intent on hurting him at the moment. Blaine lifted his head and met the Guest's gaze again, standing quietly while he was given a thorough once-over. 

"You're perfect," the Guest announced, smiling warmly. “It’s Blaine, right? I'm Kurt Hummel."

Blaine relaxed further, relieved that this Guest was pleased with him. He couldn't help but wonder why Kurt would need to call for a service slave. As attractive as the man was, artfully dressed in expensive-looking clothes that molded perfectly to his lithe body, Kurt could have gone down to the hotel bar and been plagued by drink offers from any type of company he cared to accept.  
Not to say that Blaine hadn’t serviced attractive people before. He had. Sometimes it was simpler to just get what you want with a phone call rather than go through the dance required to meet the right kind of companion. Some people enjoyed the complete obedience using a slave guaranteed, or the opportunity to pursue their darker kinks with someone who couldn't refuse them. But Blaine had never been called for by anyone who looked like Kurt.

The Guest was still staring at him, but his gaze seemed distant, like he was thinking of ten other things in his mind, and oddly, none of them appeared lust-driven. 

"Um, Sir," Blaine began hesitantly. "How may I be of service to you?" Blaine didn't want to rush Kurt, but any time spent in a client's room meant if someone decided to call for him he would be unavailable and the call would go to one of the others. Not that Blaine got more than one call a day, or even every other, especially since the warning had been attached to his profile.

"What?" Kurt asked, snapping out of his trance. "Oh, I was staring. I’m sorry. Please, have a seat on the bed and we can talk about what I called you for." Kurt sat and patted the spot next to him encouragingly.

Blaine sat next to Kurt, waiting cautiously for further orders. Kurt didn't seem to be one of the kinkers, but sometimes they surprised him. 

"Anything I can do for you would be a pleasure," Blaine assured him, relieved to hear the smoothness returning to his tone. He made sure to put on a warm, open smile to suggest he was up for anything.

"Okay," Kurt began, "Here's the thing. I'm a fashion designer. I've come into town to do a show at the end of next month. This is one of my biggest shows and I typically come early to start finalizing work with my models." He sighed. 

"I just found out this morning that Tobias, one of my two male models, is suddenly 'regretfully unavailable' and he returned my deposit on his contract and paid the cancellation fee. So he is completely out. I've already got fabric bought for him, designs in progress, several working pieces, and his loss means a huge financial strain, not to mention a timing nightmare. A whole wardrobe set is now useless, buying all new fabric would be a major loss and I haven't time to start new designs."

Kurt sighed, rubbing his temples briefly at the thought of how he was going to fix the mess. "I need to find a new model urgently. But that's a headache for tomorrow. Tonight, I need to work on outfit pairings and modifying the styles I currently have."

Kurt took a breath and began speculatively eyeing Blaine's body again. "What I really need is someone to try on the different sets of clothes so I can start working on revamping my current design. I've been looking them over and realized they need an overhaul, anyway. Tobias might've done me a huge favor. Not that I won't do everything I can to ruin him for breaking contract this late, of course," he added, a fierce glint in those stormy eyes. 

"I called for you because you have very similar hair and skin coloring to Tobias. So, if you're up for it, I need you to try on some of the clothes I’d prepared for him, let me sketch patterns, and try some different accessories and pairings."

Blaine blinked, "You want me to model clothes?" 

Kurt nodded. "Yup. If you don't mind, that is. But I can get really focused and a little grouchy when I'm in work mode, I'll warn you."

Blaine shrugged at that. Typically, he walked into a room and was ordered to strip and start sucking or simply bent over. Mood didn't really factor into his function. 

"I'd be glad to wear whatever you want me to, Sir," he assured Kurt.

Kurt flashed a brilliant smile at Blaine that left him momentarily breathless, before rolling across the bed to the hotel phone. "Hello, I'm in room 436 and I called for Blaine," he said into the phone. "No, there's no problem. He's completely perfect. Is it possible for me to keep him for the night? Yes, that's fine. Just put it on my bill."

Kurt hung up and looked over his shoulder at a stunned Blaine. He was spending the night? Blaine was never told to stay. An overnight visit was a major payday for a service slave. It meant three tokens. Blaine could eat twice from this call alone and still have something to share with Santana. 

"Thank you, Sir," He said, trying for a silky tone that just came out shaky. "I'm honored that I can please." Blaine stuck with rote, automatic phrases while he attempted to regain his composure. 

Kurt sighed at him, frowning. "If we're going to do this, would you mind calling me Kurt? That's my name, after all, and we're going to be spending a long night in each other’s company. I’d say ‘sir’ was my dad, but even he isn’t a fan. Says it makes him feel old," Kurt grinned fondly.  
Blaine swallowed. Weirdest. Night. Ever. "Of course, Si...Kurt. Whatever you'd like."

Kurt nodded and pulled out his cell. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Have you eaten yet?"

"Um, no," Blaine answered hesitantly. It had been a few days since he'd last had access to food, though he wasn't sure if he should tell Kurt that.

"Fantastic. I hate eating alone. Pizza or Chinese?" Blaine didn't answer, staring at Kurt in confusion. 

"I'm sorry?"  
"Dinner, Blaine." Kurt answered patiently. "Do you want pizza or Chinese? Pizza is easier but I'm not getting any of my clothes anywhere near it. We'd have to eat then put it far, far away from my fabric." 

"I'll eat anything you’re generous enough to give me," Blaine answered after another speechless moment. He wondered if he was being tricked. There was no way Blaine was getting an overnight call AND being fed. "I like pizza." Not that he really remembered it. His meals consisted of left over bites mixed together with other food from random plates and coated in various sauces or condiments.

"Pizza it is, then," Kurt agreed. "Any chance of an actual answer from you if I ask what you'd like to have on it or should I guess?" 

"I don’t remember," Blaine answered honestly. "Umm, maybe pepperoni? Maybe it was bacon." Really, who didn't love bacon? He remembered that clearly.

"Okay, then." Kurt, glanced away for a second, looking back at him with a slightly sheepish expression. "While we're waiting, I was wondering if you'd do me a favor?"

"Of course," Blaine hastily agreed, his stomach sinking a little. 'Here it comes,' he thought, ‘the catch’. There was always a catch.

"Could you maybe, takeashower?" Kurt spoke hurriedly. "I mean, I'm not implying that you aren't capable of basic hygiene, but you might've been in a hurry or maybe not have access to anything more than bar soap, and the grooming products I have are high quality and I really need to treat these clothes with kid gloves."

Blaine rose hastily to his feet, relieved to be given such a simple order. "It's not a problem, I promise. I'll go do a really thorough wash and be right back. You want me to use the soap and shampoo you have in there, right?"

Kurt nodded, relieved that he hadn't offended the attractive slave. It was going to be a horribly long night if he made things awkward this early on. "Yes, please. Don't rush, it's not like the hotel is going to run out of hot water. I'll start organizing some outfits and wait for the pizza."

Blaine nodded, heading toward the bathroom to shower. Truth to tell he was more than a little excited to obey this order. The communal showers in the back area of the hotel where the slaves were housed only had cold water pipes, and he was thrilled with the prospect of such a treat. Something occurred to him and he stopped at the door, turning back to face the room.

"Kurt?" He asked carefully. 

"Yep?" Kurt answered without turning from the clothing box he was perusing.

"Should I, um...am I to wait in the shower for you?" 

Kurt looked up and Blaine clearly saw when Kurt realized what he was being asked. Kurt's eyes darkened and he swallowed. Blaine waited patiently for orders. He already knew that Kurt considered him attractive and he fully expected that at some point during the evening Kurt would have him, at least once. 

For the umpteenth time since he'd arrived in the room, Kurt surprised him. "No,” he told the slave firmly. “Thank you, Blaine, I know that's what you expect and what you're used to but I'm not going to do that. I'm sure my attraction to you is transparent, and you are a stunning man but any romantic interests of mine have to start with a potential partner actually wanting to have sex with me."

Blaine blanched. "I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong? If you want me wanting you I can do that. I promise I can." Blaine was getting scared again. If Kurt wasn't pleased with him he'd get another beating and he had too many punishments listed on his card as it was. Any more and he may well find himself sold. As bad as being a hotel service slave was, Blaine was well aware that it could always be worse.

"What, No! No, you did nothing wrong," Kurt hastened to reassure. "You've been nothing but agreeable since you arrived. I simply feel strongly about consensual sex. Using a slave who can't say no is just a socially acceptable form of rape. So, please understand that while I find you charming and extremely desirable, I won't be doing anything of a sexual nature with you."

Blaine's eyes had widened during Kurt's brief tirade. He held the bathroom door in a white-knuckled grip before bowing his head. "Alright. I'll, just, yeah I'll just go shower." He beat a hasty retreat into the bathroom, making sure the door was slightly ajar in case Kurt changed his mind. 

Switching on the taps, Blaine stripped off his uniform and quickly immersed himself under the gloriously hot spray.  
Blaine certainly agreed with Kurt's opinion, it wasn’t as if he enjoyed being a rutting-bitch for any guy with $50 extra bucks to spare, but he didn't really believe Kurt's altruism would last. Blaine existed to be fucked and that was the end of it. When his body was no longer desirable he'd either be euthanized outright or sold to a bulk slaver to a factory or for oil pipeline duty. Hard labor jobs where the useless slaves were sent. Those that survived the horrifying journey had a life expectancy that was measured by weeks. 

Keeping half an ear open for sounds that Kurt was coming, Blaine abandoned all thought and lost himself to the bliss of hot water and sweet-smelling, exfoliating facial scrub. 

Outside the bathroom, Kurt tried not to think about the gorgeous man standing naked in the shower and focused instead on finding clothing pairings that would accent the lovely tan skin and dark hair of his temporary model. He'd have to look hard to find someone with a similar complexion for the show. It was sheer luck that his hotel happened to have someone on hand with a similar skin tone as it was.  
But there was time for that later. First, he needed to revamp his staid outfits. Hiring Tobias had been a mistake. Kurt designed clothes for the person who'd be wearing them. His two full time models were both high school friends and he found great satisfaction in designing amazing outfits for them. He never really liked Tobias and it showed in his work. 

The deliveryman’s knock on the door startled him out of his reflections. After paying for the pizzas, Kurt carefully set his clothes at the far end of the room, far away from the greasy boxes. He pulled his robe and a clean pair of boxer briefs from out of his luggage. 

"Blaine," Kurt called, knocking on the bathroom door as he pushed it open. "I'm leaving out some underwear and a robe for you. Also, the pizza is here." He avoided looking in the direction of the foggy glass doors and quickly ducked back out of the bathroom.

Blaine stepped out just a few minutes later, smelling heavily of Kurt's preferred scents. It proved to be an incredible turn-on and Kurt had to stop himself from stepping close and smelling Blaine. He'd ordered meat lovers for the slave, who appeared both shocked and scarily grateful to be given his own meal. It made Kurt sad that something as simple as a pizza had such a major effect on the young man. 

Despite the earlier awkwardness, the two quickly settled into a comfortable routine. The greasy pizza boxes were banned to the opposite side of the room while Blaine tried on outfit after outfit for Kurt. He patiently stood still while Kurt paced around him, adding pieces here and there or making notes in his sketchbook.  
Kurt had turned on his IPod earlier and Blaine didn't notice when he began singing along with the show tunes until Kurt finished a verse with him. Blaine blushed and tried to apologize for being noisy. Kurt dismissed the stuttered apologies, instead complimenting the slave on his voice. He then started a running dialogue of little known musical facts as he measured and rearranged tops and bottoms for Blaine to try next. 

Before they knew it, evening had given way to early morning and Kurt was stunned to realize it was almost 3 am. Blaine was tired but game to continue as long as Kurt wanted. This was easily the best night he'd had as long as the hotel had owned him and Blaine was in no hurry for it to end. But Kurt rubbed bleary eyes and called it a night, gesturing for Blaine to join him on the king-sized bed. Blaine readily obeyed, sliding quickly under the silky sheets. He expected Kurt had come to his senses and would want sex once they were under the covers, and he was oddly at peace with the idea. 

Kurt had been nothing but sweet and respectful the whole evening, treatment Blaine hadn’t expected or experienced in years. And the fact that Kurt was the most gorgeous man that Blaine had ever laid eyes on didn't hurt. Blaine didn't know what it was like to actually desire sex with someone. His virginity had gone to a cold hotel manager breaking him in. He thought that, maybe, this was close though. Blaine wanted to please Kurt, to show his appreciation for the other man's many kindnesses. The idea that Kurt would put his hands on Blaine's body, tell him to do things in that sweet, melodic voice sounded... okay to Blaine. It didn't make him nervous or nauseous for a change. 

Blaine was already under the covers when Kurt came back from brushing his teeth wearing silk pajamas that covered him from neck to ankle. Kurt turned off the light and slid into bed next to Blaine, murmuring a sleepy "Good Night," and was out in minutes. 

Blaine stared into the darkness for some time, trying to process what had just happened. He glanced over at the peaceful face sleeping on the pillow next to him. Kurt hadn't touched him, just as he'd promised he wouldn't. Blaine rolled over so he could stare at the man, trying desperately to memorize every part of this night. He'd felt like an actual person, like he was valued for more than his ability to deep throat and tight asshole. Eventually he fell asleep, tucked up next to the most amazing man he'd ever met. 

Kurt woke too damn early when his alarm went off. Cursing, he hit snooze on his phone and rolled back over. When he next woke, beautiful tawny eyes gazed at him.

"Hey, you," Blaine murmured bashfully.

"Hey, yourself," Kurt replied, smiling. Just then his phone erupted as text after text chimed in rapid succession.

"Ugg," he groaned, sitting up. "It starts." 

Blaine rose as well and quickly went to the bathroom to change back into his uniform. When he emerged, Kurt was busily sorting clothes and loading things into the large clothing boxes he'd pulled from the corner.

"Do you need help?" Blaine asked. "I have to get back soon or I'll be punished, but I can stay a little while."

"No, don't get into trouble on my account," Kurt refused hastily. He stopped packing to see Blaine out.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked carefully. "Are you, well not happy obviously, but are you okay with...what you do?" 

Blaine closed his eyes a moment. "Kurt, last night was the best night I've ever had. It's probably the only good memory I'll ever have. So, thank you for that. Last night was special. It reminded me that there are actually good people in the world. No, I'm not okay with this. Not even close. But it can always be worse." Blaine managed to dredge up an honest smile for the beautiful man in front him. 

"I wish you a great life, Kurt. I know you'll be an amazing success." Before he could overthink it, Blaine pressed a quick kiss to Kurt's cheek and ducked away down the hall back to the stable. He had tokens to collect. 

Kurt watched the retreating figure for a moment before turning back into the room. He absently resumed packing his things, thinking furiously. He'd always despised slavery. Even as a child he could never understand what made one human a person while someone else was not. His father, of a similar mindset, hadn’t been able to devise an explanation that even a young Kurt would buy. Blaine deserved so much better than his lot. He was amazing. Sweet, patient, stunning voice, gorgeous, seriously gorgeous, like model quality...Kurt froze. Well, that was a thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt finished packing and tipped a pair of bellboys to start toting his clothing boxes down to the Hummel Designs van parked in front of the hotel. Once everything was safely tucked in to his satisfaction, Kurt finished checking out of his room, requesting a meeting with the hotel manager.

"Mr. Hummel," a middle aged, average looking man wearing an off-the-rack suit called out as he walked over. "I apologize for taking so long, how can I help you?"

Kurt smiled politely. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I wanted to discuss one of the hotel slaves. Blaine."  
\----------------------

Blaine made his way back to the old, ill-kept rear of the hotel where the service slaves were housed, dubbed 'The Stable' by the hotel staff. Two old hotel rooms had been fitted with cots, one room for the males and one for the females. There were 20 slaves currently residing there, eight of them men. Blaine was the only gay male in the collection, an aberration the purchasing manager had regretted as soon as she'd figured it out. Straight men tended to be more versatile. Anyone could learn to give a blow job or bend over and spread. 

When Blaine had first started being called by women he found he sometimes had difficulty satisfying some of their desires and was sent away, only to be harshly punished for failing. Shockingly, shaming experiences followed by a lashing and starvation didn't help him do better in the future. He just became too nervous to perform at all and the experience would be horrifyingly repeated. 

After several such occurrences, a caveat was placed by his name on the service slave menu explaining his limitations and his calls dropped drastically. He'd gone nearly two weeks without eating at one point, when Santana had found him nearly unconscious by a cot. She'd told him that she had always wanted a puppy and he was such a cute little poodle. Blaine wasn't sure what to make of that, but the senior slave had also given him one of her precious food tokens and in all likelihood saved his life. That was the first of many times the crazy Latina had looked after Blaine. 

Blaine skipped past the men's area, heading directly to the women's room, smiling and greeting people as he passed. Apparently, women's love of gay men extended to other slaves for he'd always found a warm reception among the ladies while most of the other males were seldom allowed in the room at all. Santana had once told him it was because he was absolutely nonthreatening. Currently, the self-styled 'Queen bitch of the service slaves' was sitting on her cot, icing a broken nose. Both eyes were badly bruised and Blaine knew the injuries didn't stop at her face. He schooled his features, knowing he'd get his ass handed to him if Santana caught sympathy or perceived pity on his face. "Hey, Satan," he called cheerfully as he sat beside her.

"Oh God, the puppy's here. Why are you so damn cheerful this morning, Hobbitling?" She asked in an unusually nasal tone. 

"I had a good night," Blaine replied simply. He pressed a food token into the hand not holding the ice pack. "Breakfast is on me," he murmured. Santana's eyes flashed with injured pride but before she could refuse the gift or bitch him out, Blaine shoved the ice pack further against her face. "I owe you much, much more than this," he told her firmly, "Plus, I have two more just like it."

Santana raised an eyebrow at him over the cloth. "You pulled an all nighter? Look at you, rocking that fine ass." Her tone changed, becoming serious. "Are you okay, Blaine?" She knew better then any what a mixed blessing an overnight stay could become. 

Before Blaine could answer, he was yanked to his feet by one of the wranglers, a small cardboard box thrust into his arms.

"There you are. Should'a looked in the girl's room right off, I suppose," the man told Blaine gruffly. "Put any stuff you've stashed that no one else can use in the box and go to the lobby."

"Sir?" Blaine asked, nervous and confused as he attempted to maintain his footing as he was roughly propelled forward. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Don't know, don't care," the wrangler responded in annoyance. "All I was told was you don't belong to the hotel anymore. Just as well, we barely made enough profit off you to bother with, anyway. Off you go!"

Blaine walked to the men's room, kneeling by his cot in a daze. He put his alternate uniform in the box, a bleach-dotted blanket he'd recovered from the trash, as well as a few odds and ends he'd collected over his 2 years at the hotel. 

Santana limped over next to him and gripped his arm. Blaine set his box down and hugged her as hard as he dared with her cracked ribs. He had no idea where he was going but he knew he'd miss her more than anything.

Santana hugged back fiercely and ran a hand through his curls. "Be strong, Poodle-head," she growled into his ear. "Be smart, stay alive, and don't be afraid to bite anyone's ankles if you need to." 

Blaine laughed, a few stray tears leaking down his face. He hugged her again, before seeing the handler heading towards them with an angry expression and one of the leather discipline belts in his hand. Blaine hastily lifted his box and slipped his remaining two tokens into Santana's palm. He ducked away before falling within striking range of the belt, and made his way to the hotel lobby. 

Blaine wasn't sure what he was supposed to do when he arrived, but he was pleasantly surprised to see Kurt standing next to a wheeled rack lined with several outfits. Blaine fondly remembered wearing a number of them the night prior. Kurt's head was down, eyes glued to his phone. Seeing as he had literally nothing else to do, Blaine made his way over to the beautiful designer.

"Hello, Kurt," he said shyly.

"Blaine!" Kurt responded eagerly, smiling brightly. A moment later a hotel manager walked up to them. Blaine paled and tried to step away but froze when the man glared at him. 

"Here you are, Mr. Hummel," the manager said politely, handing Kurt a folder. "Original paperwork, certificate with formal transfer of ownership, and receipt of payment. That one is all yours. I do need to remind you that there are no refunds."

"Not an issue," Kurt said dismissively. "Thank you for your assistance in this matter."

The manager shook hands firmly with Kurt before turning and frowning at Blaine. 

"Behave yourself!" He ordered sternly. "Try not to embarrass the hotel." With a final polite nod to Kurt, he headed back behind the concierge desk.

Kurt watched Blaine hopefully, a cautious smile on his face. "So, this is okay with you?"

Realization crashed as Blaine's brain finally interpreted what he had just seen. "You bought me?" 

"Kinda, yeah. After you left this morning I got to thinking. Honestly, you're more than attractive enough to be a model and with a few modifications a lot of those outfits could look like I designed them for you. I was more than able to pay off the hotel with the returned deposit and break of contract fine from Tobias. It just made sense." Kurt shrugged. 

"I figured I could sink the money into a new contract with someone I didn't really know or I could get you. And you said that you hated it here so I thought we could give this a shot."

Blaine swallowed, rooted to the floor as he tried to process this new information. He was leaving the hotel. He belonged to Kurt. Barely a blink since he'd left Kurt's room and his entire life had changed. For a brief second, sheer relief overwhelmed the slave; he was getting the hell away from the hotel. And he'd be going with the beautiful man who had so charmed him the night before.

Then the cold reality of his new situation sank in. He remembered with horror how he'd just strolled over and greeted Kurt. He'd used his name. Blaine turned fearful eyes to Kurt, wondering if he should kneel. Remembering that Kurt hadn't wanted him to previously, he stayed upright with effort. "I'm so sorry for my disrespectful behavior, Master. I promise that I'll do better," Blaine promised frantically, hunching in anticipation of pain.

Kurt sighed. Apparently Blaine wasn't okay with it.


	3. chapter 3

Kurt sighed, watching Blaine's previously cheerful, open demeanor disappear in an instant, leaving a hunched, terrified slave in its wake. 

"Please don't do that," Kurt murmured, placing a hand gently on the slave's shoulder. He could feel Blaine briefly flinch at the touch before forcing his body to be still and pliant under Kurt's hand. 

"You didn't do anything wrong, okay? Nothing about us is different. I'd still prefer that you use my name and I'm the same person I was last night. I promise, everything is going to be okay."

"Yes, Master. I mean, Kurt, I..." Blaine tried to regain his composure but was having difficulty. Kurt didn't seem annoyed with him, even though Blaine was failing to obey even a simple order. His first command from his new master and Blaine couldn't even manage to get that right. 

Kurt sighed and released the shivering slave's arm. Clearly touch wasn't even a little comforting at this point.

"Come on," Kurt said, heading towards the parked van. "Let's hit the road and we can talk on the way to the house." 

Blaine collected his box and followed his master out to a large white van with a stylized 'K' woven through an 'H' on the side. Kurt Hummel Designs was stenciled in a fine cursive font below the design. Kurt pushed open the sliding back door and began walking around to the driver's side. "You should be able to fit your things in there," he called over his shoulder. 

The van's cargo was hyper-organized, with carefully labeled boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. Blaine managed to cram his box on one side but wasn't sure how he'd manage to fit himself in with it. He remembered that Kurt had mentioned last night that he had a good 4-5 hours of driving yet before he got to the house he'd rented. 

"You got it?" Kurt called as he buckled his belt and turned the engine over. "Come on up so we can leave." 

He was to ride up front? Blaine hid his surprise and closed the heavy sliding door before climbing up into the passenger seat. 

Kurt set his phone GPS app and plugged his Ipod into the radio, fidgeting with the controls until he had the playlist from the previous night. Maybe the familiar music would help Blaine settle down. Hearing the click of the passenger seat belt, Kurt flashed a quick smile at his new co-pilot and pulled onto the road.

The first hour of the journey was mostly silent. Kurt tried initiating a conversation or two but Blaine's answers were always brief and so nervously delivered that Kurt opted to leave him alone. Instead, he hummed softly along with the music and focused on tomorrow's schedule.

Blaine watched the scenery fly by, trying not to overtly stress over his new situation. Instead, he focused on being away from the hotel. He honestly thought he'd die without ever setting foot outside its walls again. 

Blaine wanted to roll down the window and take in the fresh air but he didn't dare ask for favors when he hadn't even done any service yet. Kurt had already given him a full meal of fresh food all his own just the night before and he hadn't asked anything of Blaine except to stand still and put on clothes.

Blaine glanced over at his new owner. Kurt's soft humming was melodic and soothing. He did that, humming whenever he was focusing really hard on something, Blaine remembered. 

Blaine's nerves slowly settled and the rational brain side of his brain began to function again. Kurt had purchased him to be a model, whatever that entailed, but now that Blaine was exclusively his, Kurt would surely want to make use of his other function. Blaine's mind went into work mode and he automatically began mentally measuring angles and working out the best way to maneuver his head so that he'd be prepared if Kurt wanted a blow job. He figured he just needed to get around the gear stick and tilt away from the steering wheel. Blaine still would have limited room to maneuver but he could work with that.

Kurt saw Blaine looking his way, a calculating expression on his face. He seemed calmer so Kurt tried to start a conversation again.

"Whatcha thinking about so hard over there?" he asked curiously.

Blaine dropped his eyes, not sure if the truth would be welcome or not. After a minute he decided that failure to answer a direct question was the more punishable offense. 

"I was checking out the placement of the dashboard and steering wheel so that I'd know how best to fit my head into your lap in case you might enjoy my mouth on you," Blaine answered, watching for signs that his response was wrong or for an indication to begin service.

Kurt squeaked in surprise, a sound Blaine found surprisingly...cute. Kurt's cheeks turned rosy with his blush. Apparently, sex had not been anywhere near the front of Kurt's mind. Hopefully he wouldn't find Blaine's answer objectionable. The obvious reaction in Kurt's pants left Blaine hopeful that his master wouldn't be angry.

Kurt swallowed and glanced over to meet the tawny gaze looking levelly back at him. Clearly, Blaine was just waiting for the word to get started.

"Look, Blaine. We've discussed this. Yes, you're hot. Yes, the thought of being with you is an obvious turn on. But it still isnt going to happen. The reasons I gave last night haven't changed just because my name is on your paperwork now. Sex with you would be taking horrible advantage and it's never going to happen." 

Blaine's expression was disbelieving and Kurt gave a mental shrug. He wasn't going to be able to undo years of conditioning in one day. Instead, he decided to discuss business since Blaine didn't look terrified anymore and was meeting his eyes again.

"So, changing the subject from things that aren't gonna happen to things that might, are you up for discussing what being one of my models is all about so you can decide if you're willing?" 

"Isn't that why you bought me? I'll do anything you want, Kurt. I swear," Blaine rushed to reassure. 

"Well, I hoped you would. But if you hate it you don't have to. I guarantee we'll find plenty of things to keep you busy if the work doesn't suit you. My brother would definitely appreciate any help he can get."

"Your brother?" Blaine asked, fishing for more information about his new life.

"Yeah. A lot of my crew are people that I've known for a while. Most were in high school and/or college with me. My brother Finn didn't have anything better to do when I started the business so I brought him with me in case I need something heavy carried." 

"Generally, I employ 2 male and 2 female models for a show. I have a permanent arrangement with two people and I hire out for the other slots. This way I can showcase different colors and designs without limiting myself to a blond and a brunette. I lucked out this show; my alternate female is another one of my old high school associates. I'm not really sure whether we were ever really friends exactly, but she's quite beautiful, fantastic at her job, and I trust her not to screw me." He paused, thinking about what else needed to be covered.

"Day to day tasks would be to report regularly to my workroom for long hours of what you did last night. Lots of clothing changes and tailoring. On show weekends you'd be needed for the catwalk, which I'll coach you on, and the after show party. That party is actually pretty awful and it's one of the main reasons I've never considered using a slave for modeling. But I've already made arrangements for your safety," Kurt rushed to assure him. 

"Once we get to the house you can settle in and meet everyone. Oh, I need to get you a medical exam to make sure you're healthy." Kurt paused and eyed Blaine cautiously. "Don't take this the wrong way but you're really underweight. Even for a model. I'd like to get a professional opinion on what calories you need and what I can do to help get you to a healthier weight. Besides my cooking, which is exceptional by the way." Kurt glanced over at Blaine and winked.

"Once we've established that you are getting sufficient nutrition, would you be opposed to working out?" Kurt asked. "You're beautiful now, of course, but models tend have a bit more muscle tone." 

Blaine hung on Kurt's every word. Did Kurt really plan on allowing Blaine to eat food he cooked? Blaine would love to work out, he remembered that he used to run and he'd always liked the idea of boxing. He wondered if Kurt would give him access to a heavy bag. "I'll do anything you want me to," he promised. "And I'd love to work out. I can get up early and run outside if you need me all day." 

"Fantastic! I don't expect miracles in a month and a half, of course. But if you're willing, I can ask my personal trainer to put a routine together for you. And there's no need to get up early, this would be an official part of your job," Kurt explained. 

The artificial, vaguely British voice in Kurt's GPS announced a highway change ahead and Blaine was happy to let the conversation lapse so Kurt could focus on driving.

\------------------------------------------------

 

Blaine felt a hand gently shaking his shoulder and his eyes flew open as he took in his surroundings. He realized he was in a vehicle. Right, it was his master's van. Blaine realized he must have fallen asleep, and instinctively pressed himself into the far corner of the seat against the door, awaiting a physical reprimand for his laziness. Before he could even begin to apologize, Kurt was speaking.

"I'm sorry to wake you, you looked so peaceful, but I stopped to use the bathroom and grab something from Subway. Would you like to get out and stretch your legs?"

Blaine visibly relaxed when he realized he wasn't in trouble. "I'd love to, thank you."

Blaine climbed out of the van, following his master into the gas station they'd parked at. It was one of the large combination stops that had the gas station on one side with a restaurant on the other. Blaine swallowed nervously. He wasn't wearing a collar or any other identifier labeling him as Kurt's property and he felt naked without it. He also felt a sudden, irrational fear that if he lost sight of the man, Kurt might leave without him. 

Blaine hurriedly caught up with his master and paced just behind him. He waited anxiously while Kurt was in the bathroom, opting to wait out the last few hours of their drive rather than lose sight of Kurt even for a second to go himself. 

Kurt glanced at him in confusion. "Don't you want to use the bathroom? I'll just walk over to Subway and you can meet me there."

"I'm fine," Blaine answered, staring at the ground. "If it's okay, I'll just stay with you." 

After a moment of contemplation, Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the van. He placed the Hummel Designs lanyard the keys were attached to over Blaine's head.

"Hold these for me, would you?" Kurt asked. "I'll just be across the way." 

Blaine watched his owner's retreating figure, then stared down at the car keys dangling against his chest, proof that Kurt couldn't leave him behind. Wiping his eyes, Blaine quickly entered the bathroom.

Blaine stepped up quietly next to Kurt at the sandwich shop a few minutes later, holding the van keys out to him. "Here are your keys, Master."

"Kurt," Kurt corrected him absently, scanning the board as he took the keys back. "Are you literate, Blaine?" 

"Yes, Kurt." Blaine wondered if that was the answer Kurt wanted or not. It was common for slaves to not be taught to read unless it was required for their function, the lack supposedly making them more docile and less prone to attempt running away.

"Excellent. I don't have to teach you, then. So why are you staring at the floor instead of up at the menu? I really don't love having to guess what you want to eat," Kurt commented, grabbing a bag of sun chips off the rack. Once Blaine got over his astonishment enough to select something, Kurt paid for their meals and headed back to the van.

"You are welcome to go back to sleep after you eat, if you want. We should arrive at the house in a few hours," Kurt told Blaine, while the slave cautiously opened the bag of chips that had come with his meal. He kept waiting for Kurt to call some variation of 'psyche' and hit him or take away the food. Neither action occurred and Blaine gradually relaxed with his Cheetos. He settled against the seat after he ate, not sleeping but content to look out the window.

Too soon in Blaine's opinion, the van pulled up to a long brownstone house with a twin van to the one they were riding in parked out front. He had no idea what to expect, and that was always the thing he'd hated the most with his former job. They both climbed stiffly down from the van.

"Home sweet, rental home," Kurt said, though he was smiling. He stretched, long limbs reaching skyward as he arched his back. His shirt rode high, revealing the hint of long muscle and perfect, snow white skin. Blaine tried and failed not to stare. The man really was ridiculously beautiful. 

"Kurt! You're here. It's about time, I'm starving," a voiced called, the door opening wide. A man who looked about Kurt's age strode purposefully out of the house. Blaine froze as the very large man came barreling towards them. While attractive, he didn't strike Blaine as the model type with his faded jeans and untucked flannel shirt. Kurt hadn't mentioned anyone beside the models and his brother staying with him.

"Whoa, hey I almost didn't see you there," the giant said, sidestepping to avoid running headlong into Blaine.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Pardon my inattentiveness," Blaine replied hastily, hunching protectively as he awaited a blow or shove.

"Naw, it's my fault. I wasn't watching. Who are you, anyway?" the man asked curiously, no sign of animosity in his manner.

"Master Kurt bought me..." before Blaine could finish, the large man turned and hollered.

"The hell, Kurt! You bought a slave? Burt and mom are gonna be so pissed." 

"Oh, quit making snap judgments, you oaf. Tobias jumped ship and I needed a model ASAP." Kurt replied snarkily, coming around the van.

"A model! You bought a slave to be a model? That's, like, so much worse. Kurt, you know what'll happen to him at the show..." the bigger man continued angrily.

"Okay, that's enough," Kurt interrupted. "God! I've taken precautions. Blaine will be perfectly safe. And it's not a sure thing. It's up to him if he wants to be a model or not. If it turns out that he doesn't want to he can be an assistant." 

"Well, okay then," Finn answered, mollified. Clearly the idea of help with his work appealed to him.

"Blaine, come over here." Kurt said. Blaine quickly stepped up to them, wondering if he should kneel. "I'd like you to meet my brother, Finn. Finn, this is Blaine." 

"This is your brother?" Blaine asked, shocked into speaking without permission. He winced. Kurt may have lax rules when they were alone together but Blaine was certain he was expected to be a well-behaved slave in front of others.

"What, you can't see the obvious resemblance?" Kurt teased with an amused smile, not seeming concerned with Blaine's misbehavior.

"Finn's my step brother. My dad married his mother, and now I'm stuck with the big lug." 

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Finn replied, grinning and yanking Kurt into a hug that completely enveloped the designer.

"Let me go! Finn, let me go right now! If you wrinkle this shirt I'll make you suffer!" 

"Do I hear Kurt's unnecessarily high yet still oddly perfectly pitched complaints?" A female voice asked in amusement as a petite brunette exited the house.

"Excellent, Kurt. You made it. You're actually a little later then I was hoping for, though. As you know, my first rehearsal is next week and I have to run lines and while Finn really does try he just doesn't have your flare for bringing words off the page and while I'm more than capable of making do with a dry read I really feel my performance would improve with another talented actor to play against."

Blaine stared at the tiny women as the torrent of words poured out of her. 

"Nice to see you, too," Kurt responded dryly before turning back to the group. 

"Blaine, this is Rachel. She's one of my full time models and she just got a role at a local playhouse. Rachel, this is Blaine, my solution to Tobias's abrupt exit, hopefully chased by a bear."

Blaine snorted in amusement at that before he could catch himself.

"He got that reference?" Rachel asked, her piercing gaze focusing on the slave in sudden interest. Blaine swallowed and subtly tried to lean so he was behind Kurt. For a tiny girl, she was really scary.

"That's Blaine. He's Kurt's new slave," Finn told her helpfully. 

The eagle stare left Blaine to focus with laser intensity on his owner, who seemed much less intimidated than Blaine had been, despite the obvious anger radiating from the actress.

"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, tell me that there was a miscommunication and you did not buy this boy to be a replacement for Tobias."

"That's the plan," Kurt told her. 

"Really Kurt, I just don't know what you were thinking. You know those vultures will eat him alive. And don't get me started on the after party."

"Oh my god, does no one trust me?" Kurt demanded. "When have any of my people ever had trouble at a show? For your information, Rachel Berry, I booked Kitten directly after buying him."

"You did? Well, that's different." Just then finally Finn caught up with the conversation enough to realize Rachel had been criticizing his attempts to help her rehearse and decided to take offense. Rachel immediately tried to retract her words and mollify the big man.

"I trust you," Blaine said, too softly for the arguing pair to hear, from his place just behind Kurt. 

There were a lot of unknowns in Blaine's new life. He didn't know why everyone was so worked up about him doing the show. He didn't really understand what his future role in this place would be or when Kurt would finally decide to exercise his rights as Blaine's Master and have him. 

He did know that Kurt had been honest and direct with Blaine since they'd first met. He'd been generous, kind, and Blaine believed that when Kurt did bed him he would be gentle. If Kurt told him he would be safe, Blaine saw no reason to doubt him.

Kurt's eyes were suspiciously shiny as he glanced back over his shoulder at the slave. "Thank you," he said simply. 

"Alright, this welcome has been heartwarming and all but lets go inside," Kurt announced. "Finn, if you'd start unpacking the van I'd appreciate it. Rachel, I will run some lines with you later tonight. Right now I need to get the van emptied and show Blaine around the house."

Kurt led him into the house and started the tour with the kitchen, which Blaine discovered was fully stocked. Kurt explained that he cooked at least once every day and there were always leftovers to be had. He caught Blaine eyeing a bowl full of apples with longing and was quick to place one of the fruits in the slave's hand. 

"The kitchen is always available," Kurt reiterated firmly. "You can always come in here if you're hungry. There are sandwich fixings around if you don't want to reheat leftovers and the pantry has chips, granola bars, all the things I don't eat but definitively prove that Finn does most of the shopping." 

Kurt stopped by a covered container, which he opened to reveal a giant plate of cookies. "Try one. I made these. I bake when I'm frustrated so there's pretty much always going to be fresh baked goods around."

When Blaine didn't make a move toward the cookies, Kurt sighed and pulled out two, handing one over while he ate the other. 

The rest of the house tour went quickly. "Upstairs is my work room," Kurt pointed up the staircase. "I'm not going up there now or I'll get stuck and you're sure to see more of that room than you ever want to, anyway." He moved them along down the hall.

"And here is your room. Don't mind the boxes, we'll move them out." 

The room was big, airy, and had a large window with a bed pressed flush against it. A nightstand with a bendable lamp and alarm clock radio was rested next to the bed. A large stack of opened boxes and a few bolts of cloth were stacked in the center, taking up a large chunk of the rooms space. The walls were painted a muted cream tone of that paired with the dark red frame at the ceiling nicely. A large dresser graced the far wall, the cherry wood matching the rest of the furniture and the room's color. Kurt pointed out the shared bathroom with a bathtub and shower directly across the hall. 

The main bedroom was just down the hall from Blaine's. The stacks of books, sketches and fabric Blaine saw when he peered into the room announced that this was Kurt's room as clearly as if there'd been a sign posted. A large bed sat in the middle with a ridiculous amount of pillows piled on top. 

"So, that's pretty much everything, for now," Kurt told Blaine as the pair started moving boxes from Blaine's room to the far wall of the living room. Blaine had assured Kurt he could move the boxes himself but Kurt had insisted on helping. 

Occasionally, they bumped into Finn as he moved armloads of fabric and boxes up to Kurt's workroom and piled up other boxes with the ones they were stacking. Once Blaine's room was clear, Kurt and Blaine went back out to help Finn empty the van. Somewhere along the way, Rachel appeared and handed around plates of chicken tacos that Kurt had apparently made a few days ago before he'd left for the supply run he was returning from. They ate as they worked, the three friends chatting amiably. Blaine had been sure he was full from lunch until he smelled the spicy, amazing smell wafting from the plates. He found there was actually room in his stomach for one, and then two when Kurt dumped a second onto his plate. 

It was getting late by the time they finished and Kurt brought Blaine a set of new toiletries for his bathroom including toothbrush, paste, a comb, bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and the soap he remembered as Kurt's preferred scent. Kurt also brought in a pair of pajama pants, an oversized tee shirt and a bathrobe. 

"I'm exhausted. Don't know about you, but I'm about ready to pass out," Kurt told Blaine, suppressing a yawn.

Blaine nodded. He wasn't in the best of shape to begin with and the stress of his sale plus emptying the van had left him totally exhausted. "Is there anything that I may do for you, Kurt?" He asked. "You've been so generous." Blaine was trying not to cry. This was literally too good to be true and he was sure that when he next woke it'd be on a filthy cot in the hotel stables waiting for his name to be called.

"Not a thing. Just rest, relax. You're entire life has just had a major overhaul. Take some time to adjust. The only pressing thing we have to do tomorrow is your medical check up and that isn't until two. Good night, Blaine." Kurt leaned in and gave the slave a soft peck on the cheek, then headed down the hall to his room. 

Blaine watched Kurt disappear into his room down the hall, confused. Blaine's door was still open. The large window by the bed was cracked to let the night air in. Blaine scanned the room for a hook or shackles, ties, something to bind him to the bed for the night since the door clearly didn't have a lock. Nothing caught his eye.

He changed into the pajamas Kurt had left for him and sat on the bed, waiting for someone, probably Finn, he imagined, to come and lock him down for the night. But as the sounds of activity around the house gradually faded into silence no one came. Blaine wondered if they'd forgotten, or if this was some kind of test. Kurt had paid a lot of money for him. There was no possible way he'd be left unattended and unbound. 

Eventually, Blaine curled into the warm blankets, wrapping himself in a soft down comforter that smelled of lilac fabric softener. After a few slow breaths exhaustion overcame wariness and he slept.


	4. Chapter 4

"Blaine, wake up dude." A voice made its way into Blaine's conscious mind while a hand on his shoulder gently shook Blaine to full awareness.

Blaine shot upright, looking around frantically. He was in the tan room his master had told him was his yesterday. The morning light filtered through the curtains and a breeze rustled from open the window. 

Finn was peering down at him, wearing a sheepish expression. "Sorry I scared you," he told Blaine ruefully. "But you sure spook easy."

Blaine glanced over at the digital clock. 8:30! God, Blaine had slept in too late. He hadn't been given a specific time to be ready but he was sure that he should have been up by now. 

"I'm so sorry, Sir!" He told Finn, hastily pushing the covers away and standing. "I didn't mean to sleep so long. Is Kurt very angry with me?" 

Blaine immediately stilled when a pair of strong hands settled on his shoulders. He wasn't sure if he should be kneeling for Finn or dressing as quickly as he could. Either one was probably wrong. He began to tremble, closing his eyes in anticipation of a blow to the face. He certainly deserved whatever was coming for being so lazy and careless. 

"Hey, stop. It's okay. I'm sorry. You aren't in trouble." Blaine cautiously opened his eyes at the large man's words, not exactly sure he should trust them. But so far Kurt's brother had done nothing to harm him. 

"Really, it's okay. If Kurt is gonna be angry at anyone it'll be me." Finn shrugged. "He told us to let you sleep in. But it's breakfast time and Kurt's making French toast. It's really epic and I know if someone didn't wake me up to let me know that French toast was happening I'd be seriously pissed. So, you know, I just thought I'd wake you up in case you were interested. Didn't mean to upset you." Finn released his shoulders and took a few deliberate steps back.

 

"So, umm, if you want to come out for breakfast with us, you're welcome to," Finn finished awkwardly.

Blaine swallowed. Now that he was fully awake he noticed the sweet smell of frying sugar and the muted sounds of voices. A tinkling of bright laughter sounded briefly over the chatter. Blaine would know that musical voice anywhere. Maybe he should go, Kurt may want to help with something. 

"Umm, please, what should I wear, Sir? Kurt had told him he'd get some basic clothes and outfits set up for Blaine today.

Finn laughed "It's breakfast, not a formal dining experience. Just throw on your robe and come out when you're ready." Finn shot him a smile before turning to head quickly toward the kitchen. Clearly, he'd been away from the French toast as long as he could bear.

Blaine used the restroom and did his best to quickly comb his curls into something manageable. Sliding on the robe Kurt had left for him, Blaine cautiously made his way to the kitchen area. Rachel, Finn, and a lovely blonde girl he didn't recognize we seated around the large dining table. The table was covered with filled plates. Bacon, scrambled eggs made colorful with veggies, a large bowl of tater tots, a carafe of coffee with cream and sugar cups, and a large pitcher of juice with slices of strawberries floating in it were spread across the table's surface with a variety of other side dishes. Blaine stared at all the food, startling a little when Kurt came around the open island that separated the kitchen from the eating area, a plate in each hand. The plates hold thick slices of French toast dusted in powdered sugar. Thin lines of syrup were artfully drizzled in a criss cross pattern across the bread. 

"Blaine! Good morning," Kurt chirped cheerfully as he walked past. Finn reached across the table impatiently for one of the plates and Kurt backed him up with a glare. "Nope. This one is Rachel's and trust me, you don't want it." 

He handed the other plate to his chastised half brother and set the first in front of Rachel. "Vegan French toast is a sin against the culinary gods, just so you know," Kurt told the girl. Rachel only beamed up at him and cheerfully dug in.

Finn took a giant bite o his and groaned happily. "This is the best part of these dumb shows. You cooking every day."

Kurt snorted. "I aim to please." He looked over to where Blaine was hovering uncertainly. "Come on, sit down. The next batch is nearly done." With that, Kurt turned and headed back to the stove

Finn kicked the chair next to him out in invitation, grinning as he chewed. Blaine cautiously sat down, trying desperately to figure out what his place in all of this. 

"Hello," the blonde girl across the table greeted him, clearly sizing Blaine up. 

"Ma'am," Blaine replied, dropping his gaze. 

"Blaine, would you like coffee or juice?" Rachel asked him, pointedly ignoring the other girl. "Kurt strongly objects to making me vegan food but he'll do it. He draws the line at caffeine-free coffee, though. And the juice is orange juice mixed with strawberry and it's amazing." 

Blaine glanced over to the kitchen where his Master was cheerfully singing about the merits of Kansas City as he flipped the toast in the pan. 

"I uh.. I should have water, if that's okay?" He asked cautiously. Rachel shrugged and passed over a pitcher of water with cucumber slices. "Okay, but you really should at least try a little of Kurt's juice. He gets uppity when his efforts aren't appreciated." 

Blaine didn't know exactly what that meant, but he poured half a glass of the juice, far too nervous to attempt to drink it. He was waiting for someone to yell at him or push him to the floor. Blaine could feel himself beginning to shiver again; he had no idea was expected of him in this place and was terrified he'd accidentally earn a punishment.

"Blaine." The blonde across the table called him with quiet authority. He looked up, meeting the pretty green eyes cooly evaluating him. "You are exactly where you are supposed to be. You'll have to excuse your owner. Kurt's never spent an extended amount of time around slaves. He honestly doesn't understand that this might upset you. Rachel can't see past her own world and Finn is adorably clueless," she glanced across the table at the large man, smiling fondly. Rachel was talking away at high speeds and Finn was focusing, clearly attempting to keep up.

"My name is Quinn," the blonde told him. Her tone was gentle but firm. "You are to address me by that name." 

"Yes, Quinn," Blaine answered, relieved someone was actually telling him what to do. 

"When Kurt cooks, we try to eat together. Usually we gather here at the table, around those stools at the breakfast bar, or in the living room. Kurt will expect you to sit with us, and eat until you're full from whatever is available. Every meal." Quinn paused to take a delicate bite from her plate. "Now, tell me what immediate questions you have." 

"Is there something I should do until everyone finishes eating? Like clean or serve?" Blaine asked, grateful that someone would give him instruction. 

"You misunderstand. Eat at the same time as we do. You will be given a plate of your own and you are to have the food on the table. Kurt will appreciate assistance cleaning up but that's for afterward," Quinn explained. "Don't try to help him cook; he prefers to have the area to himself."

Before Blaine could ask the crazy girl if she was sure about all that, Kurt returned. He took the seat on Blaine's other side and placed one of the two plates he carried in front of the slave. Blaine stared at the two thick slices of warm, sugary perfection in front of him. 

"Go ahead. It's good, I promise," Kurt encouraged. "Grab some of the other sides, as well. I made bacon specifically for you since I remembered you saying you liked it at the hotel." 

"I love bacon," Finn objected. "You don't go out of your way to make it for me."

Kurt rolled his eyes. He took a big bite of his toast, sighing in satisfaction. "You like everything," he told his half-brother. "And I haven't talked with Blaine yet about his food preferences so I went with the only thing I knew about for certain." 

Blaine met Quinn's gaze across the table. She smiled encouragingly at him before looking down to type on her phone. 

Blaine slowly reached for the bacon platter, expecting his hand to be smacked at any second despite the reassurances. Rachel glanced at him and handed the platter over without pause in her one sided conversation with Finn.

When nothing painful happened, Blaine placed some bacon on his plate. Emboldened, he added eggs and several potatoes. Not able to wait any longer, he tried the toast and nearly died right there. Blaine couldn't remember having anything so amazing in his life. Vanilla, sugar, cinnamon, and syrup blended with strawberry slices into a bite of fluffy heaven. 

Kurt was watching his reaction and grinned at the look of pure bliss on the slave's face. "Not bad, huh?" He asked cheekily.

"I don't have words," Blaine replied honestly, covering his mouth as he chewed. With Kurt next to him, smiling and happy, Blaine was finally able to relax and enjoy his food. Kurt's presence had put him at ease ever since he'd met the handsome designer. The gut-wrenching fear that arrested him every time a hotel manager would appear had yet to surface with this new owner. Even when the slave in him quaked, Blaine realized, he'd never been really terrified of the man. Not like he should, given Kurt had absolute control over Blaine's life. Blaine ate quietly, listening to his master verbally spar with Quinn. 

"Who is Quinn?" He asked softly, when Kurt stopped talking to pour them both more orange juice. Blaine had eventually tried it and discovered Rachel was right, it was amazing. 

"Hmm? Oh, no one told you? Sorry. Quinn and Rachel are my female models. I'll pair you with Rachel, and Quinn is always partnered with my other male model, Sam, when I have her. You'll understand why when you see him. Sam is flying in tomorrow morning so you can meet him then."

Quinn smiled, looking pleased. "Sam's coming tomorrow? Excellent. Wait, you bought Blaine to be a model?"

"Not again," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, I did. I know he's a little skinny, but I'm working on that and with his coloring he will play off Rachel really well" 

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. He's perfectly attractive. With a nice hair cut and a little work on his posture, he'll be fine." After a moment, she shrugged indifferently. "I'm sure you know what you're doing." 

"Thank you, Quinn, for being the only one here who has given me even a little benefit of the doubt. Besides Blaine, of course."

"Of course he did. You've had him for what, two days? And he hasn't been beaten yet. He's not locked in the basement when not in use and you've fed him. He'll do anything for you."

Kurt froze.

"Quinn, please," Blaine whispered, not wanting Kurt to be upset, despite the truth to the words.

"We'll talk later," Kurt promised her darkly, seeing Blaine looking miserable beside him. 

Kurt got up and headed to the kitchen to start cleaning, Blaine following close behind. "May I help?" He asked softly.

"I'd love it, actually. That lot is quick to appear for meals but they're even quicker to disappear afterward."

Blaine began scraping plates and putting them in the warm soapy water while Kurt scrubbed. Blaine watched the left over bits of food hit the trash, painfully aware that those would have amounted to a gold star meal for him back at the hotel. 

They cleaned in companionable silence. Afterward, both retreated to their respective bathrooms to shower and change. Blaine came out from a wonderfully long, hot shower to find several sets of clothes on his bed. Once dressed, he laid back on his bed, content to hide in his room until summoned. He fell asleep that way, the warm rays shining in from the window.  
\-----------------

Blaine woke hours later. Glancing over, he saw that the clock said 12:40p. Kurt would be collecting him soon for his medical exam. After making his bed, Blaine ventured out to find Finn reading a magazine in the living room.

"Hey, dude. You hungry? We generally only do the big meal thing once a day so it's every man for himself the rest of the time. There's leftover lasagna and sandwich stuff in the fridge."

Eat again? After the mammoth meal just that morning? The man must be insane. "Thank you, Sir. I'm still full from breakfast," Blaine answered politely. 

"Call me Finn," the larger man said amiably.

"Blaine?" Kurt called. "Are you around? We need to get going."

Blaine hastily turned, following Kurt's voice through the house.

"Marco!" Kurt tried again, louder this time.

"Polo," Blaine responded in a normal tone as he came around the corner to meet his master, a grin tugging at his face.

Smiling back, Kurt headed for the door, collecting Blaine's paperwork off an end table as he passed. 

The drive to the clinic didn't take long, but it was more than long enough for Blaine to get nervous. What if they found something wrong? Would Kurt not want him anymore? He reached out and clutched Kurt's arm as they walked across the parking lot before he could stop himself. 

Kurt smiled at him reassuringly, clasping his hand over Blaine's. "It's okay. This is just a check up. You're completely safe. I won't allow anything to happen to you, I promise." 

"Yes, Kurt." Blaine replied softly.

They entered a typically neutral office lobby and Kurt signed them in, collecting a form to fill out. Kurt sat on a chair and Blaine knelt on the floor beside him.

"Please don't make me," Blaine begged with his eyes when Kurt looked like he was about to tell the slave to sit next to him. The exam room was fairly crowded and Blaine didn't want to risk calling attention to himself or get yelled at. 

Kurt sighed, but didn't comment on Blaine's choice. Instead he began filling out the form, quietly asking the slave questions. Birthday? September 22. Vaccine history? Unknown. 

"Mr. Hummel?" A young lady in scrubs called out after a bit. 

"Right here," Kurt answered as followed her down the hall, Blaine trailing close behind him. He handed her his mostly completed chart

"This way, please." 

Kurt was shown to a standard medical exam room. He bounced onto the wheeley chair, rolling idly while Blaine sat on the papered exam table, trying to control his nerves. 

About ten minutes later a different woman in a white lab coat entered. 

"Mr. Hummel, hello. I'm Rebecca, nurse practitioner. And this must be Blaine?" She asked, smiling warmly at the slave.

"Yes, Ma'am," Blaine answered, barely above a whisper. He really hated medical exams. 

"Okay, one of the receptionists phoned Blaine's previous owner to get any medical records they have. Those should be faxed over any time now. In the meantime, lets begin with a standard physical. Blaine, please stand up."

Blaine held perfectly still, following whatever order was directed at him while the nurse obtained his vital signs and listened to his lungs, chatting amiably with Kurt as she worked. 

"How long ago did you purchase him?" Rebecca asked, as she counted Blaine's radial pulse. 

"Two days ago. He belonged to the hotel I stayed at," Kurt answered easily.

"Oh. Blaine, what was your function at the hotel?"

"I was a service slave, Ma'am."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, to Blaine's relief. The assistant handed Blaine's file over to Rebecca and she flipped it open and began scanning the sheets.

"Mr. Hummel, would you mind telling me what function you bought Blaine for?"

"Uh, sure. I'm a fashion designer. Blaine is going to assist as one of my models." 

"Have you or anyone else used him for sex acts since you bought him?"

Kurt's head jerked up. "Absolutely not. Why do you ask?" 

The nurse flipped through the file again. "All service slaves are routinely screened for transmittable conditions. The results of Blaine's latest tests came back yesterday. He's positive for Chlamydia. You're absolutely certain no one's used him?" 

Blaine felt a rushing in his ears, deaf to whatever else was being said. Oh god, he had an STD. He leaned against the wall for support before sliding down to the floor. He tucked his legs up and wrapped himself into a tight ball, shaking uncontrollably. Why now? He finally had hope for a decent life, a good master, a nice home, and now it was all over. 

"Blaine?" Kurt stopped talking to the nurse when he noticed Blaine curled in on himself on the floor. "Hey, hey it's okay." Kurt quickly knelt next to the slave, wrapping his arms around him.

"I have an STD," Blaine answered bleakly. Hearing himself say the words didn't make it any less surreal.

"I'll just start getting things together," Rebecca told Kurt, walking out of the room.

"Blaine, please, it's okay. Really." Kurt tried to reassure the inconsolable slave.

Blaine curled around Kurt, wrapping his arms around his master's waist and burying his face into his chest. "I'm sorry, Kurt. Sorry you wasted money on me. Sorry I'm worthless." 

Kurt hugged Blaine tightly to him. "Blaine, don't be like this. You aren't worthless, and I'm so glad I bought you."

Blaine began to sob softly, cringing when he heard the door open and the nurse return. He glanced over to her, seeing the syringe on the tray she carried. Hastily, Blaine shut his eyes, burrowing back into Kurt's warmth.

"Is it..." he swallowed, "Is the injection going to hurt?"

"I'm honestly not sure. I've never gotten it," Kurt replied, running his hands through Blaine's curls soothingly. "But I'm sure that compared to everything else you've experienced, a little shot won't feel like anything." 

Blaine nodded, not moving from his spot against Kurt. "Okay...okay." 

Kurt held on tightly to the terrified slave while the nurse rolled up Blaine's shirt sleeve and rubbed a alcohol swab over his skin. The cynical voice in Blaine's head wondered why she bothered.

True to Kurt's prediction, the injection barely stung as the nurse pushed the fluid into Blaine's arm. 

"That's it, all done," she announced cheefully.

"Thank you," Kurt replied, rubbing soothing circles along Blaine's back. "Would you get the rest of his paperwork ready and I'll head out to the counter in a minute?" 

"Of course, give me a few minutes to get Blaine's discharge instructions together and I'll be right back. While you're at the counter you may as well schedule his recheck."

Kurt nodded, feeling Blaine go still in his arms.

"Feeling better?" Kurt asked kindly.

"Please, what recheck appointment was she talking about?" Blaine asked in confusion. He pulled his head up and glanced at his arm; it looked the same as always. And he felt fine. 

"Your recheck. We went through this, I'm sorry, I thought you were listening."

"I...um, I was distracted. Why do I need a recheck?"

Kurt repeated the conversation readily, just relieved that Blaine was calming down. 

"Okay, well, Nurse Rebecca is writing a script for antibiotics which we can fill on the way home. She wants to see you back here in 2 weeks to be retested. If you're still positive we may need to continue your meds longer." 

"Antibiotics?" Blaine whispered, confused. 

"Yes. For the STD."

Blaine flinched.

The nurse returned at that moment with a script and written instructions for Blaine's home care. "Now, the antibiotic injection is a good start. He needs to begin oral meds tonight with food. If he gets nauseous or develops a rash let me know, we may need to change to a different antibiotic."

Blaine pulled himself completely upright and turned to the nurse. "Please, Ma'am, that shot you gave me was an antibiotic?" 

"Of course. Kurt and I were discussing that just a few moments ago."

Blaine felt like he was about to faint. He looked at Kurt who was smiling reassuringly. "I'm, wait, that wasn't..." 

"Wasn't what?" Kurt urged the slave to finish his sentence so he could figure out what the hell was going on in Blaine's head.

"A euthanasia shot," Blaine whispered, staring at the floor.

"What?" Kurt's voice could hit a really impressive high note, Blaine couldn't help but notice. "Of course not! You really thought you were about to be killed?!" 

"He has reason to believe that," the nurse told Kurt, tearing a script off her pad and handing it to him. "There are specific laws for slaves who are used for public services. Any who come up positive for anything transmittable are legally required to be culled so there's no risk that they might infect citizens."

"Blaine," she said, crouching in front of the slave to be at eye level. "The rules are different for private owners. Since Kurt isn't going to make you available on a public service basis, he can choose to handle your health however he wants."

"And, please believe me, I'm getting you treated. I'd never do...that, Blaine. I swear. I promised to keep you safe," Kurt told him urgently, hugging Blaine for all he was worth. 

The grip was too tight, but Blaine welcomed it. He was okay. He had an STD, but he was okay. 

Seeing that Blaine was calming, Rebecca finished going over home care with Kurt and said she'd see them in two weeks. 

Kurt stood, pulling Blaine up with him. "Are you feeling better, now? As soon as I pay the bill we can leave."

Blaine was adamantly in favor of leaving. He clutched at Kurt's arm like the lifeline it was as they left the sterile room. 

Kurt had a hard time pulling out his wallet to give his Mastercard to the receptionist with Blaine glued to him like a barnacle but he didn't try to pry himself loose from the death grip. Blaine had just gone through a crisis and Kurt wanted to give him any reassurance he could. 

Once they got to the van, Blaine finally released Kurt's arm. His face burned with embarrassment and he was ashamed by his behavior. He'd just had a major meltdown in the middle of a medical office, apparently freaking out and panicking over a simple antibiotic injection. If he'd only listened he would have known what was happening.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean to make such a scene. I set out determined to be good for you and I can't seem to get a single thing right. I'm really sorry. And I'll do better. I don't want to mess this up."

"Honey, you want to see a scene, wait until I'm nose deep in my designs at 6 in the morning and I don't have any coffee. Now, that's a scene. I've been known to make dogs howl from the 'pitch of my bitch', as Quinn so kindly called it once." 

Kurt carefully backed the van out and maneuvered onto the road before claiming Blaine's hand in his once more. "We just need to stop and get your script filled and then we can go home."

Blaine squeezed the hand holding his. Home sounded good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to put this out there. Kitten is an OC. I wanted her to be Kitty but it just didn't work so she is her own, special person. Plenty of cameos to come though, I promise.

Blaine had nightmares that night. At first they were dark, nebulous things that lacked any coherency. The disjointed images finally took shape, and Blaine found himself standing in his former home. His vague sense of unease quickly deepened, morphing onto terror. He didn't know specifically what he was afraid of, but he knew it was after him. He fled down the empty halls of the hotel, knowing it was behind him, always gaining. It breathed at his neck, a dirty, unhealthy thing. And it was faster than Blaine, and he knew he was losing ground even as he frantically searched for something. Blaine knew that If he could only find it, he'd be safe. 

The hallways changed, blending and shifting, and then he was in the kitchen of his new house, sitting alone at the big kitchen table. Kurt walked up to him, and Blaine smiled, relieved to see his Master. The relief to turned to icy terror when he saw that while Kurt had a plate stacked impossibly high with French toast in one hand, the other held a gleaming steel tray bearing a giant syringe full of dark, viscous liquid. He stared at the jagged angle of the needle tip, opening his mouth to scream as a thick drop of the caustic, tarlike fluid dripped out of the hollow point. Slowly, it rolled toward him... 

Blaine woke with a start, lunging upright. Kurt was sitting on the bed next to him, looking worried. "Blaine, are you okay? You were screaming, honey." 

Blaine reached for the only safety he knew, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist and burying his face in his owner's stomach while waiting for the last dredges of nightmare induced terror to fade. He felt Kurt's hand on his back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. After a few minutes, Blaine was able to let go.

"I'm okay. It was just a bad dream. Did I wake you?" Blaine asked guiltily, knowing Kurt's room was right next to his and both of them slept with their doors open.

"It's fine," Kurt assured him. "But unlike some of us who are naturally gorgeous," he paused to wink at Blaine, "I need every minute of my sleep to maintain a decent complexion. Come on, you."

Blaine obediently rose and followed his owner silently, expecting to be taken to the couch in the living room. He was fine with that. It was still far more comfortable than his previous lodgings. 

Instead, Kurt led them down the hall towards his room, where he gestured for Blaine to climb under the covers. Bemused, Blaine obeyed, climbing inside Kurt's siky sheets. His master slid in behind him, tugging Blaine down so he could wrap his arms around Blaine's waist and spoon him close.

"Is this okay?" Kurt asked softly in Blaine's ear once they'd settled.

"Of course," Blaine assured him quickly. Oddly enough, he did feel safe this way. Kurt was his Master, after all, and self preservation dictated that Blaine should always be on guard against a man who such control over him. But rather than feeling nervous, he felt at peace, calm and secure in Kurt's tight hold. 

Blaine wondered if Kurt would want sex when they woke up. He decided it didn't matter much. Obviously, some acts were out of the question until Blaine's recheck STD test, but if Kurt might like an alternate type of pleasure, well, that was one thing Blaine was a pro at. He was more than willing to do anything he could to repay his Master's kindness. And to keep his home.  
\-----------------------

Kurt's alarm screamed to life well before either man was ready for morning. Kurt rolled over, away from Blaine, and buried his face in his pillow. "Noooo," he moaned into the down bedding. His muffled voice continued to cuss at the device. "Go away! Grr." 

Blaine leaned over Kurt and pressed the snooze button to silence the noxious sound. "Argg..." Kurt continued to groan before realizing the noise had stopped without his intervention. Confused, he raised his head to peer blearily at the bedside clock. A sound from his other side made Kurt jerk over to see Blaine lying next to him. Oh, right. Kurt vaguely remembered dragging him to his bed when he'd heard Blaine screaming in his sleep. Kurt really didn't want to know what horrors the slave had been reliving, but he'd listen if Blaine wanted to talk about it. 

Blaine waited nervously for Kurt to waken a little more, watching for any cue that might tell him what he should do now. He waited, watching as Kurt rolled over onto his back and stretched, slowly acclimating his body to the harsh reality that it needed to get up. 

"Sleep, okay?" Kurt groggily asked the man next to him. 

"I did, thank you," Blaine answered softly. Now that Kurt was on his back, Blaine could see the clear evidence of an impressive morning erection. He scooted cautiously closer, pressing his body along Kurt's. While Kurt scrubbed at his sleep-crusted eyes, Blaine moved slowly downward until he was at waist level. He still didn't know if this was the right course of action, but he figured erring on the side of caution was safest, and taking care of his master's hard on was unlikely to anger him. Also, this would allow Blaine a chance to prove he could be of value, and if there was anything he was truly skilled at, it was blowjobs. God knew he'd had practice. 

Still uncertain, Blaine tentatively brought his face to the tent in the sheet, nuzzling his cheek along the firm length. Kurt jerked beneath him, groaning at the contact. Reassured that he was doing as he should, Blaine turned his head and began mouthing at the erection.

"Jesus, Holy hell...Blaine, ugg," Kurt mewled. That sounded positive to Blaine and he tugged the sheet away to reveal Kurt's silk sleep-pants. 

Rationality slowly flowed it's way through Kurt's skull. "Blaine, no," he groaned. "Stop, Blaine. You need to stop, now." It was physically painful saying the words, but at the same time Kurt's conscious was wide awake and screaming that this was wrong. He reached down to thread his fingers into the curly hair of the head doing those amazing things to his body and tugged gently, pulling Blaine away. 

Blaine had been reaching for the edge of Kurt's pants to tug the waistline down when he heard Kurt's words. He froze, tensing when he felt his Master's hand gently pulling him away. 

Kurt pushed himself to a sitting position, sliding away from Blaine. He hadn't been touched like that in...God, it felt like forever. If Blaine was one of his ordinary co-workers, Kurt would cheerfully have broken his cardinal rule against sleeping with models. But this wasn't the case. Blaine wasn't touching him because he liked him and found Kurt's body desirable. No, he thought this was part of his job. Quinn's words from yesterday echoed in his mind. Blaine would do anything he thought would please him.

While Kurt shook himself to full alertness and got his raging hormones under control, Blaine was quietly panicking. What had he done wrong? They were in bed together, Kurt was clearly in a position to enjoy release, and he'd responded favorably to Blaine's actions. At first, anyway. When he was barely awake. Blaine realized with dawning horror that he'd just touched his master sexually without prompting or orders. In point of fact, Kurt had told Blaine on more than one occasion that he didn't want sex from him. Blaine had always assumed he'd change his mind, but he should have waited for some sign that Kurt was rescinding his order. He'd broken one of the only rules Kurt had made for him, and in the worst possible way. And then there was the Chlamydia. Just maybe, his beautiful owner didn't want a diseased slave pawing at his body. 

Blaine slid out of the bed, kneeling on the floor and trying to silence his sobs. He felt panic rising, bleeding away his ability to reason. This was bad, really bad. Slaves had been euthanized for far less. Kurt had said he wouldn't do that, but that was before Blaine had screwed up so immensely. Blaine hoped his master would allow him to beg to be punished. A beating would be so much better then being sold or even killed. Hearing the bed creaking above him, 

Blaine dropped his forehead to the carpet, bowing as low as possible and lacing his hands behind his back submissively. "I'm sorry Master, so so sorry. I didn't mean to disobey, I'm sorry, please Sir, please punish me." 

"Blaine, damnit," Kurt muttered above him. The bed creaked again as he stood up, staring down at the slave curled up on the carpet. Blaine looked so tiny like that, shivering in a tight little ball. Kurt touched his shoulder and the slave's body froze, his fingers white with how hard he had them clenched behind his back. 

Fuck this. Kurt got a solid grip on Blaine's arm at the shoulder and tugged him upright. He could feel Blaine respond, pulling himself to his feet along with Kurt's motions. Blaine managed to achieve an upright stance without unlocking his hands from behind his back and kept his head lowered. His chest heaved with his panicked breathing.

At least he was standing, Kurt thought. He gently placed his hands on either side of Blaine's face, tilting his head up. "Blaine, look at me." He put some command into his tone, needing Blaine to really hear him. Startled, the slave looked up, meeting Kurt's eyes. Blaine had tear tracks running down his face, clearly terrified as he awaited his owner's verdict. 

"You are not in trouble. I'm not mad at you. No one is going to punish you here, ever. It's okay. Please, just breathe," Kurt urged. Kurt let go of Blaine's face to reach behind the slave's back and unhook his hands, bringing them forward and holding them gently in his grip. Blaine was shaking harder now, and Kurt was getting nervous himself. "Blaine? Sweetie, are you hearing me?" Kurt frowned, " Blaine," he said sharply, seeing the jerking response. Well, that was something. "Repeat after me. 'I am not in trouble.' Say it now."

Blaine swallowed, "I'm not in trouble," he whispered. 

"Good," Kurt told him, relieved he was finally getting through the panic. "I'm not mad at you. Say it back."

"You aren't mad at me," Blaine whispered, watching Kurt's eyes, looking for confirmation that the words were true and finding it in the distraught blue gaze.

Kurt pulled Blaine over to the bed to sit next to him. Despite himself, Blaine reached down, wrapping his arms around Kurt's slim waist, seeking out comfort from his fears. Just like he had back at the doctor's office, he buried his face in Kurt's chest. 

"I'm sorry, Kurt," he choked out, his voice muffled against Kurt's nightshirt. Blaine wasn't sure if he was apologizing for the inappropriate touching or for being such a mess. Probably both.

"It's alright," Kurt reassured hastily, running soothing fingers through Blaine's hair. After a few minutes the slave collected himself enough to pull away, though he kept a hand locked with Kurt's. 

"Blaine," Kurt said softly, "I mean it. You aren't in trouble. But you need to understand this when I say it. I'm not going to use you for sex. Ever. You are officially retired from the pleasure slave life. We can have a retirement party if you want. I'll even bake a cake. Anything to make you understand that that chapter of your life has passed, okay?" 

Blaine snorted a wet laugh. "I don't need a cake. I understand. No sex."

"Well, I mean, if you meet a cute guy and the two of you mutually decide that you want to do fun stuff, you certainly can. You're an adult and all. But it's never going to be a job any more. Sex isn't an obligation you need to fill. Not for me and certainly not for anyone else, for any reason."

Blaine nodded in understanding. "I...thank you. But I don't think I'll be doing that anytime soon. I don't really associate sex with fun.'

Kurt was just relieved Blaine was back with him. He smiled into Blaine's eyes, relieved to see there was no fear left in them. The alarm blared behind them, a noxious signal that snooze expired and they were actually expected to get up. Hell, had that whole mess gone down in ten minutes? If felt like years. 

"Okay, that horrid sound means that means we are officially ten minutes late. How about we shower...separately," he added hastily. Blaine ducked his head, smiling softly. "And you meet me in the kitchen when you're done. Today I'm making dinner but there's tons of cereal, fruit, and miscellaneous carby products out there." Kurt stood and smacked at the alarm, one of the few things in the world he harbored homicidal feelings toward, while Blaine left for his own bathroom to shower. 

Blaine quickly stripped and stepped into the stall, turning the water to a decadent heat. As steaming water fell down around him, Blaine took slow, deep breaths and tried to pull himself together. Today was the first day for model work and he was determined to get at least something right.

He tried to think analytically about the disaster from the morning. Blaine closed his eyes and tried to picture Kurt punishing him, that beautiful face contorted with cruelty, or even remorse, as he struck. Blaine drew a blank. He honestly couldn't create the image in his head. He remembered his last breakdown, when he wouldn't let go of Kurt at the doctor's office. Even this morning when his conditioning and experience told him he was about to suffer, he'd reached for Kurt without hesitation the moment he'd broken out of his panicky state. Instinct told him Kurt was safe. He just needed to think before panic could cloud his judgment. He could do this. And if he still had problems, well, Kurt seemed to think he was worth fighting for. 

Reluctantly stepping out of the shower, Blaine quickly toweled off and slid on a fresh pair of boxers and his bathrobe, not bothering with more since he'd just be undressing in a little bit anyway, and headed to the kitchen. Kurt wasn't there yet but Rachel was. She had half a grapefruit, a bagel and a giant mug of coffee in front of her as she focused on the script she was reading. 

"Blaine, hi," she chirped brightly. Her sweaty clothes said she'd been exercising already this morning. She pushed a large bowl his direction, filled with a variety of roll-type things. Blaine saw a croissant in the mix and reached for it eagerly, eyeing Rachel warily from the corner of his eye as took the pastry out of the bowl. Rachel was grinning at him so apparently it was okay. At her nod, he sat on the stool next to her and took a bite, eyes closing in bliss. 

"If you like them that much, add them to the grocery list," Rachel told him in amusement, pointing to the magnet-bound paper hanging from the fridge when he opened his eyes. He nodded, taking another bite of the croissant. Blaine spotted a giant mug next to the one Rachel was using bearing the Vogue emblem blazoned across it. "Is this Kurt's?"

Rachel nodded, "Yes, it is, and he'll need every ounce." 

"You don't know how he takes it, by any chance?" 

"There's fat-free hazelnut in the fridge. A pump or two should do. Eat more than a croissant, Blaine. You're going to be up there a while," Rachel advised. 

At the girl's urging, Blaine ate a bowl of cereal, another croissant, and took an apple from the fruit bowl. He poured Kurt's coffee and went in search of the designer while he chewed on his apple. He found Kurt as the designer was coming down the hall. Kurt's eyes lit up at the sight of the steaming mug in Blaine's hand.

"Is this for me?" Kurt took the coffee in delight. "Oh, Blaine, you're a wonder," he told the slave before burying his face in the mug. Blaine wondered if it was always this easy to please Kurt, and determined to get up early the next day and wake him with a fresh cup. 

Kurt gestured up the stairs, still glued to his mug. "After you."

"Aren't you getting breakfast?" Blaine asked as he obediently began ascending the narrow stairs to Kurt's workroom.

"Nope. I can't stand to eat this early. You did though, right?" Kurt asked.

Blaine nodded. "Rachel was having breakfast and she wanted me to eat...a lot," he admitted. Kurt made an approving sound. At the top of the stairs, a short, light blue hallway veered toward an open, bright room. He entered the main room, taking in the large windows, mirrors along every wall, fabric, thread, a fully-dressed mannequin, and a naked man with one foot propped on a box, Captain Morgan style with an ipad perched on his bent knee. 

Blaine stopped, frozen in place while took it all in. The man was nicely tanned, very blonde with subtle highlights, and looked like he should be bearing a planet across his shoulders. Swallowing, Blaine couldn't help but allow his gaze to drift downward. Wide, heavily muscled shoulders gave way to a ridiculously chisled chest, his waist narrowing slightly to emphasize a six- pack you could use to teach an anatomy lesson with, descending down and curving into what could only be described as a perfect 'bubble butt'. Upon careful scrutiny, Blaine determined the man wasn't completely naked; there was slight evidence underwear in the form of a string resting tautly between pert cheeks. 

Blaine barely registered when Kurt ran into him, not expecting his abrupt stop. "Blaine? What's up? Go on in..." Kurt peered around Blaine's still form to see what the holdup was. 

Once he'd laid eyes on what had left Blaine rooted to the floor, Kurt let out an annoyed huff. 

"Oh, for god's sake, Sam, put the ass away."


	6. Chapter 6

Sam looked up at the sound of his name, setting down his ipad and reaching Kurt in three quick strides. He pulled Kurt into his arms, hugging him enthusiastically. "Hey man, great to see you!" He exclaimed with a giant, gleaming white smile. 

Blaine watched the two interact curiously, noting that the blonde man actually was wearing some form of underwear, though the tiny bikini was the exact shade of Sam's skin and was stretched to its limits. Kurt was laughing, hugging Sam back just as fiercely, not seeming even a little off put by the acres of bare skin clutching him in a bear hug. "As always, Sam. It's great to see you," Kurt replied. He made a point of looking of pulling back a little to eye the man from head to toe. "All of you," Kurt added with an affectionate eye-roll. Sam beamed.

Stepping back from the mostly naked man, Kurt nodded toward Blaine. "Sam, this is my new model, Blaine. Blaine, this is Sam Evans. He's an old friend of mine. And this is his idea of a grand entrance," Kurt explained, gesturing at Sam's body. 

Sam chuckled. "Just making sure you remember me fondly."

Realizing that Blaine still seemed to have mentally checked out, Kurt located the thin kimono that Sam favored when he was down to his underwear between fittings. He tossed the robe over Sam's shoulders. 

"Here, Sam. Put this on or we'll never get Blaine back." Sam laughed, winked at Blaine, and slid the robe on. If he did it a little slowly, making sure to flex his biceps and carefully honed back muscles as he slid the robe up, well, he was just being friendly. 

"Show Pony," Kurt told Sam, watching the scene with open amusement. Once Sam had tied his belt, Kurt gently tugged on Blaine's arm to get his attention. 

"Earth to Blaine," Kurt murmured, teasingly. "You back with us yet, buddy?" 

Blaine jerked at the sound of his name and realized he'd been staring for some time. And perhaps drooling a bit. He hastily dropped his eyes. Blaine considered kneeling for the visitor, but a quick glance at Kurt's relaxed expression changed his mind. Instead, he leaned in a little, trying to hide behind Kurt. Sam didn't look anything like angry, but he was huge. Blaine didn't want to think about the kind of damage he'd take if Sam decided to hit him. 

Although the man may not have realized Blaine was a slave yet. The neckline of the robe he wore was high enough to hide the slave brand at the back of his neck. And it wasn't like Kurt had him behaving properly. Running a thumb along his neck, Blaine keenly felt how bare his throat was. He wondered how long it would be before his owner decided for certain that he'd keep him. 

"Shy?" Sam asked him with a wide grin when Blaine didn't say anything. "It's okay, you know. Professional model here. I literally live to be stared at." 

"I didn't mean to, Sir," Blaine answered apologetically. 

"And why not? I don't do it for you?" Sam demanded playfully, curling his biceps and striking a dramatic pose. Blaine blushed and tried to hide further behind Kurt. 

"Enough, Sam. Leave him be." Kurt rubbed his eyes, he was already tired and he hadn't even begun. Well, time to fix that. 

"Blaine, I would like to start with you. I have a good idea what I want I want to do for your theme, but I need to start fixing what I can from the set I made for Tobias."

"Yes, Kurt. Of course. What do you want me to do?" Blaine asked instantly. 

Kurt bit back a sigh. As useful as it was to finally have a model that wouldn't be arguing with him every step of the way, Kurt was still a little sad at how ridiculously eager to please Blaine was. 

"I need some pretty exact measurements, so would you strip down to underwear? I have some briefs in the drawer, you don't have to go with a thong if you don't want to. And you can change behind the screen if you'd prefer," Kurt added, gesturing at the changing screen in the corner of the room. It didn't get used much. Sam would get naked at the drop of a hat and the ladies had long ago decided that since Kurt was gay they didn't need to bother with discretion. Either way it made things easier for Kurt. He'd honestly prefer Blaine in the thong or naked for more precise measurements but he didn't want to scare him. Blaine had been made to stand naked for strangers far too many times as it was.

"You're measuring him in briefs?" Sam asked, confused. Kurt shot him a quick 'leave it' look but Blaine had already heard.

"It's okay, Kurt. I'm used to naked. It's fine," Blaine hastily reassured his owner. And it would have been, if Blaine hadn't just seen Sam in all his skin. He couldn't help but feel...inadequate. He looked nothing like the man across from him, how could he possibly become what Kurt needed in less than two months? Blaine slid out of the bathrobe, setting it aside and reaching for the waistline of his underwear, hesitating. 

"New to this?" Sam asked, looking up from where he'd been typing on his Ipad. 

"Not really, Sir. I've been taking my clothes of for people for years. I just..." Blaine broke off, not sure what he was trying to say.

Kurt had moved to one of the clothing racks, scrolling carefully through his options. He turned when he heard the distress in Blaine's voice. "It's really okay if you can't do this, Blaine. I told you, Finn would love to have an assistant. It's just really important that you let me know before I start cutting fabric." 

Blaine swallowed. "I want to be what you need. It's just that...I don't look like that," Blaine commented weakly, gesturing at Sam, who was looking at him in confusion. "I can't look anything like that in two months, maybe not ever." 

Sam frowned, "Of course you can't. You're a foot shorter than me and I've been at this for years. You're nowhere near my league." Sam didn't mean the words cruelly, but Blaine still hunched, curling his arms about his too-thin frame.

Kurt scowled over at the blonde, who'd already turned back to his movie. He walked over to Blaine and put a hand on his shoulder. "Blaine, Sam is an A-list model. You aren't going to see his kind at a show on this level. If I had to pay Sam his standard rate, I couldn't afford a bicep. He comes here for the company and the food. You don't need to compare yourself to him, or anyone else for that matter. You are plenty beautiful just as you are. I've told you that. Neither Rachel nor Quinn thought that you weren't attractive enough, did they? And they've worked in this field for a while." 

"Quinn's here already? Sweet!" Sam exclaimed.

Kurt sighed. "And the drama begins." He stared mournfully into his empty coffee cup.

Blaine popped forward, reaching for the cup. "Let me refill that for you." 

Before Kurt could respond, Blaine had slid his robe back on and was nearly out the door. "Sir?" He asked, looking over at Sam. "May I bring you something?" 

Sam looked confused for a moment before giving Blaine a thorough look over. "What? Oh, I didn't realize that you're a slave." He frowned. "You aren't very well trained, are you?" he added disapprovingly. 

Blaine curled in on himself at the censure. I...I'm trying to be, Sir. Mas- Kurt wants different things then I'm used to." 

"You are absolutely fine, Blaine. Ignore him, he has no say in the matter," Kurt interceded quickly. Blaine nodded. It didn't really matter what Sam thought. Kurt was his owner and ultimately the only one he needed to please. 

"True, that. Sorry," Sam agreed, though he'd directed the statement at Kurt. "He does belong to you, right?" Kurt nodded. 

"Not my business how you want your slave to act. He looks like a great investment. He'll clean up nicely for the show and with his smaller build he'll attract a lot of people for private rental. You'll probably make back his buying price this event alone." 

Blaine was confused, and the look of outrage on his Master's face had him quickly retreating downstairs to refill the coffee. 

Kurt watched Blaine disappear, relieved that he wouldn't be present for this conversation.

"Sam, you know my feelings about slavery in general, not to mention selling the models," he ground out at the model.

"Yeah, that's why I was surprised you'd gotten a slave," Sam replied. "It's cool though. They're really useful. And he can't bail on you like Tobias did. What was up with that, by the way?"

"Not the point," Kurt said through clenched teeth. "Blaine helped me when I needed to go over new styles, he was in a shitty situation and seemed like a sweet guy. I thought this might work out for both of us. He is just here to be a model. He's not for sale or rent to anyone under any circumstances. And so help me, if you try to bully him Samuel Evans, I'll shave your head while you sleep." 

"You wouldn't, not this close to the show," Sam backed up a step warily. He'd forgotten how formidable Kurt could be when he was truly pissed. 

"In a heartbeat. You have time to grow it back to something decent. Failing that, there's always wigs." 

"Okay, okay, it's cool," Sam put up both hands defensively. "You want the kid to be treated like a co-worker instead of a slave, that's fine with me. Whatever. Just no radical hair alterations, please. I'll even keep an eye out for him when I can. But I can't be there all the time and people are gonna assume." 

"I've got that covered," Kurt reassured, calmer now that Sam was agreeing. "Just, be nice to him, okay? He's been through a lot."

Sam nodded, a cheeky smile forming. "Wow. You're really into that one, aren't you? He is a cutie. He must be dynamite in the sheets to get you so riled up." 

"When I said just a model, I meant it. He's not fair game for anyone, including me. Especially me," Kurt murmured the last words with a tinge of regret. The sound of feet on the staircase preceded Blaine's return. He had Kurt's steaming coffee cup clutched in one hand and a plate with assorted fruits, crackers, and cookies in the other. 

"Mr. Finn told me to bring this up," he said, eyeing the two men warily. 

"Awesome!" Sam walked over and took a strawberry and a cookie off the plate. "Thanks, Blaine," he added, ignoring the slave's startled response. 

Kurt took the cup with a contented sigh, "Thank you. You are officially my new favorite person." 

Blaine smiled at him. "My pleasure. Mr. Finn said I was supposed to try to get you to eat something." He didn't mention that Finn had actually told him that he needed to get Kurt to eat before he got bitchy. 

"Not hungry," Kurt responded airily. "But you should definitely have something."

"If you aren't hungry, then I'm not," Blaine told him, schooling his face to a neutral expression. 

"Blaine, don't be stubborn. You need the calories. Eat." 

"Is that an order, Sir?"

"Oh, for gods sake." Rolling his eyes, Kurt reached over to the platter and pulled some cheese and crackers off.

Blaine smiled happily and took something for himself before setting the platter down on a small table near the door. 

Sam watched the interaction with open amusement. "Oh, this is going to be fun," he commented, popping a cracker into his mouth. 

Privately, Sam applauded the slave's moves. Kurt frequently became lost in his work and forgot to take proper care of himself. This Blaine boy might turn out to be a really good thing for his friend.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reassured that Kurt didn't think he was physically lacking, Blaine readily pulled his clothes off when Kurt was ready for measurements. Kurt slid the tape around Blaine's body with practiced ease, careful not to make Blaine feel self-conscious by staring or staying in one place too long. It wasn't difficult. Most models tended to be fairly blasè about nudity; Kurt had certainly seen everything Sam had to offer on multiple occasions. He'd learned to dive into work mode, focusing completely on measurements and plans, ignoring any urge to stare at whatever beauty he was working with at the time. 

Blaine stood quietly while Kurt moved around him, muttering to himself and dragging a cloth tape measure around his chest and hips, pausing periodically to make notations on his notebook. Blaine didn't look over at Sam, though he felt the man staring at him. At one point, the senior model walked a slow circle around him, blatantly sizing him up. Kurt was crouched next to him, busily working on his sketch pad when Sam came back around and put a hand low on Blaine's hip, sliding it up to his abdomen.

"Actually, this isn't bad," he commented. Blaine froze at the touch, careful not to move away. "Kurt, he's got some decent muscle here," Sam said, running his hand up to Blaine's chest. "A little definition and toning and he could really be something. You want me to set up an exercise schedule for him?"

"Please," Kurt answered without looking up. "If you could work out a nutrition plan as well, I'd appreciate it. Blaine already said he's up for some strength training." 

"Sure." 

Blaine kept his face carefully blank, hiding his relief when the hand was removed. Blaine was adept at hiding his fear of casual touch, trained to be still and plaint for anyone wishing to touch him. But he only just now realized that he didn't have to that with Kurt. His owner's touch didn't instill fear in him the way it did with everyone else. 

"Blaine, do you have any idea what sounds good, exercise wise?" Sam asked, startling him out of his thoughts. "The basement in this place is finished and they keep a full gym down there. There's free weights, a bench, heavy bag, umm, a treadmill, I think. I need to set up a pretty fixed schedule for your weight exercises but cardio is open season." 

Blaine shot him a confused look. Sam was treating him differently. Blaine wondered what Kurt had told him, and if it was only for when Kurt was directly present. "Whatever you think is best, Sir, I'll do." Sam nodded.

Kurt rolled away, popping to his feet and trotting off to his desk and writing as he muttered. He was clearly in his zone. Blaine had seen him do that a few times during their first night together and knew Kurt was essentially lost to the world until he emerged. Sam apparently also knew the signs. He sighed, pulling off his robe and threw on a pair of jeans and a skin-tight tee. "Kurt, I'm going out for a walk, I'll come back in an hour."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Kurt answered vaguely.

"Blaine, why don't you come with me?" Sam asked. "It'll be nice to get some air and we can talk."

Blaine swallowed. He glanced at Kurt, who clearly wasn't paying attention. He touched his bare throat nervously. Blaine wasn't sure what Sam's interest in him was. And if Sam decided to go somewhere and leave Blaine to make his way back alone, Blaine could get in trouble walking around unlabeled. But Blaine didn't want to distract Kurt from his work to ask if he should go. Instead, he nodded obediently to Sam. "I just need to go to my room and get some clothes. I'll be right back," he promised. 

Sam clearly didn't share Blaine's concerns about interrupting the designer's focus. He walked over and shook Kurt's shoulder. "Kurt, hey man. Blaine's going with me for a little hike. I'll make sure he gets back here safe and sound." 

Kurt finally looked up. "Remember what we talked about, Sam" he said warningly. 

"Scout's honor, safe and sound," Sam promised, giving Kurt the Vulcan sign. Kurt rolled his eyes and went back to his sketches.

Blaine wasn't sure what most of that meant, (not the sign of Vulcan, he definitely understood that reference), but he felt slightly better after the exchange as he trotted downstairs. 

A short while later both men were walking down a well-tended nature trail that wound past the house. Blaine walked a step behind Sam and kept his gaze down. Kurt wasn't here to run interference and he was afraid he might give offense to the muscular model if he didn't behave properly. 

Sam glanced back at him and plopped down on a bench, gesturing for Blaine to sit next to him. "Look. We're gonna be getting really close and personal the next several weeks. I want to set a few things straight."

Blaine nodded, "Yes, Sir." He was apprehensive, but at the same time relieved that at least he'd know what was expected of him. 

"Call me Sam. Kurt owns you, and he decided he wants you to be treated like one of us. So that's what I'm gonna do. I won't hurt you or anything, I promise. And if you want to talk to me or ask questions, or exercise together or anything, that's fine." 

"I..okay...um, Sam, whatever you want." Blaine replied cautiously.

"Great," Sam said cheerfully, getting up to continue walking. "So, what was your function before Kurt bought you?" He asked curiously.

"I was a service slave at the hotel Kurt stayed at." 

"You're a hotel whore?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was, yes." Blaine shrugged. "But Kurt didn't call me for that when he was there. He'd just found out about the other model canceling and was trying to work out new ideas. He didn't want any of my usual services." Blaine was still slightly baffled by that whole first night.

"That sounds about right," Sam agreed. "Kurt can be picky about his lovers. And he has this hang up about using slaves." Sam's tone suggested he didn't understand the issue. "Whatever. He likes you; you seem to want to take good care of him. That's all I need to know."

Blaine had nothing to say to that and they walked in silence for a bit. "Will you tell me what exercises I can do? I really want to be what Kurt needs, show him I'm worth keeping."

"Of course, Sam agreed. "But you don't need to prove anything to him. It's not like you're going anywhere." 

Blaine dropped his eyes and rubbed absently at his neck.

"Blaine? You get that, right? Why do you think he may not keep you?"

Blaine shrugged. "I'm underweight, not muscular enough. I'm umm, not...healthy right now. I want to prove I'm valuable enough to earn his collar."

"Is that what's got you in a twist? He hasn't put a physical claim on you?" Sam sighed. "You seem like an observant guy. Look at the way Kurt lives. He's toted his brother with him all the way from Ohio. His employees are friends he's had since he was sixteen. Kurt doesn't let go of something he cares about easily. And he cares about you, a lot."

"Really?" Blaine asked hopefully.

"Hell yeah. He threatened to shave my head if I upset you. So, I'd appreciate if you never tell him anything like that."

Blaine didn't try to hide his smile. "So, if he definitely plans to keep me, why hasn't he labeled me?"

"Probably because he doesn't get that he needs to," Sam answered casually.

Blaine blinked, confused by that. "Even if he's never had a slave himself, we're everywhere. He's had to have noticed that we all wear collars."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah, that's the logical thought, but he just sees something he thinks is demeaning. He doesn't get that they also mean security. You're either gonna have to resign yourself to never leaving the house without an escort, or explain to Kurt exactly why you need to be tagged. Once he understands your safety is at risk, I'm sure he'll get you one. Even if he isn't crazy about the idea." 

Blaine sighed, not wanting to think about how he'd broach that subject. "Ah, Sam?"

"Ah, Blaine?" The model teased. 

"Will you explain to me why everyone is so freaked about me modeling? It's because I'm a slave, I know, but no one is saying exactly why." He tried not to let his frustration color his tone.

"Yeah. Okay, 'cause you really need to know this. You get that the designers pick out styles of clothes, the models wear them on a runway show, and then later they display them during the after-party?" Blaine nodded. "Well, the actual clothes are on sale if someone wants that exact outfit. When the model is a slave, it's generally assumed that more than the clothes are available." 

Well, that explained it. Blaine nodded in understanding. He kind've figured that was the case, but it was good to get confirmation.

"Kurt said that I'm not for sale," Blaine said tentatively. "That he wouldn't let anyone have me for sex." 

"Yeah, he told me that, too. It's a waste, in my opinion. You've really got that 'adorably hot' thing going. He could make a good profit, even if he kept your ticket load light. And with your history, you're already trained to please, too." Sam shook his head. 

Sam was right. It was a logical use for him. Blaine couldn't help but wonder if Kurt would realize that and change his mind once they got closer to the show. "Please, whats a ticket load?"

"It's how they regulate your schedule. The models wander around the after-party displaying whatever outfit their designer wants them to showcase, usually evening-wear. The available slave models have a handler who has tickets to sell for their time. On average, they generally have eight or nine tickets for sale, each with a specific time of availability. Some designers don't mind wearing their slaves out with more than that though, especially if they plan to use someone different for Sunday."

"It's fine and all that Kurt doesn't want to do that, but he's going to have a hard time keeping someone from yanking you into a bathroom and having a go. It's not exactly uncommon and the fine for getting caught tends to be about the same as a rental fee."

Nine times. Blaine shuddered. He didn't want to think about being fucked nine times in one night. It had happened once before, when he'd been called for by a group having a room party. They hadn't been particularly gentle and he'd been in pain for weeks afterwards. 

"Thank you. May I ask another question?"

"Sure." The path had turned and they were now headed back in the general direction of the house.

"Do you know who Kitten is?"

Sam stopped walking to laugh. "Oh! Kurt managed to score Kitten for you? Wow, I totally forgot they were friends. I take back every scary thing I just said to you. You will be the safest person in that whole damn show. I'm so hiding behind you if someone starts perving on me. This show is going to be awesome." 

The trail veered again and they ran into Quinn casually walking along the path. Sam winked at him. "Give a man some space, okay? But don't lag so far back that I can't get to you quickly. I really like my hair the way it is."  
\-----------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day went fairly smoothly. Kurt had most of Sam's measurements on hand, but he still needed to recheck. 

"Damn it, Sam! You've gained an inch around your chest. Quit hitting the steroids or there won't be any point to all those pretty muscles."

Sam snorted. "Never even once. This is all natural, baby. I'm way too fond of my balls for that crap." 

Kurt continued to skillfully flick the tape measure around the mostly nude man, calling out measurements to Blaine, who'd offered to take notes for him. They spent the rest of the afternoon trying on different outfits while Kurt sketched, until he finally released them for the day so he could start on dinner. 

Blaine ate with the group again, not saying much, until Rachel remembered that he had theatrical knowledge and proceeded to talk at him for duration of the meal. Fortunately, Blaine wasn't really required to participate in the conversation. Kurt quickly ate half his dinner then disappeared back to his work room. Finn apparently had kitchen duty. Blaine attempted to help but was shooed away with orders to relax. He'd apparently done his work for the day. 

Not sure what to do with himself, Blaine went to the basement to check out the weight room. It was a pretty good set up. Sam found him there a while later and sat him down to arrange a workout program. It turned out he was a certified personal trainer, though he'd never taken a single client professionally, just himself and close friends. Sam set Blaine up with a rotating schedule for weights and running. 

Blaine looked at the treadmill unhappily. He'd much rather run on the outside trail then in the basement, but it just wasn't safe for him to be out there unmarked. He hesitantly asked about the heavy bag and Sam cheerfully found a pair of gloves for him and taught him the right way to do a few basic punches. He told Blaine to meet him there the next day and he'd give him a full hour of training on it. 

They also set up a dietary plan. Blaine was stupefied by the amount of calories he was expec,ted to consume. "There's no way I can do this, Sam. If I eat anything like this much food I'll get in so much trouble." 

"No, you won't. Kurt likes feeding people. Trust me on this. If there is one thing no one here will ever give you trouble over, it's food. Anyway, Finn almost always lives with Kurt in one place or another, I've been in their lives for years. Between him, me, and his dad, Kurt's very used to giant male appetites. You're underweight as it is. You need to catch up, and if you're actively working out, you'll need even more."

"Even if I don't get in trouble, I'm not sure I can eat that much," Blaine admitted, staring down at the meal sheet. "That morning Kurt made French toast I was stuffed for the day."

Sam nodded. "Okay, that's fair. First thing, make the food you do eat count. Skip the junk food and go for the protein and good carbs. Try to add smoothies or those high calorie shakes to your day, if you can't eat anything else. I promise, as your body gets used to working out regularly your metabolism will respond and you'll be eating like a horse in no time."

Blaine nodded uncertainly, slowly unwrapping his second boxing glove after Sam had gotten his first off for him. 

Sam watched him for a minute, seeing the uncertainty. "Blaine." The slave looked up, startled by the slight command in the tone. Sam hadn't used that on him since Kurt had lit into him. 

"You want to be good for Kurt, right? You said you wanted to be what he needs and you were willing to work hard for that."

"Of course, Sir," Blaine agreed hastily. "Very much."

"Well, this is how you do it. If you want to make your body look good for him you need to gain weight and put on muscle. You can't do that without the calories your body needs. And if you try to do too much without taking proper care of yourself, you'll get sick. You're of no use to anyone that way." He patted the smaller man encouragingly on the shoulder.

"Try to stick to the schedules I made. Sleep a lot, it's good for you. Pay attention to aches or odd pains and tell Kurt or me. The best thing you can do for him is to take good care of yourself. Of course, he'll probably mother hen you no matter what you do." Sam added the last with an affectionate eye roll. 

That made a lot of sense. Blaine nodded. "I'll do my best, Sam."

"I'm sure you will. Now, come upstairs with me. Finn and I are having a Star Wars marathon and we have murder some ice cream during the Hoth scenes. It's a moral imperative." 

Blaine begged off the star wars marathon, though he did accept a small bowl of rocky road, and went back to hide in his room. Emotionally exhausted, he fell quickly to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Once Blaine had settled into his new routine, time seemed to fly by. Exercising left him physically exhausted, but exhilarated as well. Blaine did his best to follow the food schedule Sam had given him and found that he had been right; no one objected to how much Blaine ate. If anything, it was the opposite. The daily group meals provided more food than Blaine could ever want, and every time he so much as approached the kitchen someone was there, encouraging him to take something. 

His relationship with Kurt was going surprisingly smoothly. Blaine didn't try offering anything sexually again and Kurt gradually started back with the familial touches that had disappeared after the unfortunate blowjob incident. Blaine was fairly certain that Kurt didn't realize he was touching again, or that he'd stopped in the first place. Regardless, Blaine was relieved that he hadn't permanently messed that up between them. Actually desiring contact from someone was a foreign thing for him, and Blaine found he'd keenly felt its absence. 

Blaine's recheck appointment at the medical clinic went significantly better than his first visit had. He'd clung to Kurt the whole time, but managed to stay moderately calm throughout the experience. Nurse Rebecca was pleased with his physical exam and encouraged Kurt to keep feeding him as much as he could tolerate. When the results of his repeat STD test came back negative a week later, Blaine felt the relief down to his bones. 

A week or so after buying Blaine, Kurt felt Blaine was comfortable enough to go shopping for basic clothes at a local mall. Blaine handled the experience well enough, but he made sure to stay close to Kurt, feeling eyes watching him when he wasn't right next to his owner. Unmarked slaves didn't really belong in department stores. 

It was at the beginning of his second month of belonging to Kurt when Blaine finally decided he had to have a talk with his owner. After yet another night of nightmares (fortunately, he hadn't screamed or Kurt would've woken and gotten out of bed to check on him), Blaine looked out his window to a gorgeous morning. It was bright and brisk with a slight breeze, and Blaine wanted nothing more to go out on the trail for a quick jog. But there would be hell to pay if he tried to wake Sam this early to escort him. Enough of this; he needed to be properly labeled. 

Blaine made his way to the kitchen. Rachel had already been there and gone, leaving a full coffee pot for the rest of the household. Blaine poured Kurt his normal morning cup and headed to his owner's room. He leaned against the doorway, patiently waiting until just a few minutes before Kurt's alarm. He preemptively turned the machine off and shook Kurt's shoulder gently.

"Hey, time to get up, sleepyhead. Good morning." Kurt burrowed further into the blankets, cursing the sky, the world, and Blaine in a heavily muffled voice. The first time he'd woken his master this way, the words had alarmed Blaine, leaving the slave a shaking, apologetic mess. He'd quickly discovered that Kurt didn't mean anything by it and learned to ignore the words. Kurt just really hated waking up. 

"Kurrttt, I have coffee," Blaine encouraged.

That did it. Like a bottle nosed dolphin popping its face out of the water, Kurt surfaced from the sea of bedding. He reluctantly pulled himself upright and reached blindly for the cup, his eyes screwed shut. Blaine carefully set the mug in his grip, trying and failing to contain his chuckle.

"Thank you," Kurt croaked once the hot mug was secure in his hands. After a few minutes he was able to offer Blaine an actual 'good morning'. The slave took a seat at the edge of the bed, wondering how he was going to go about this.

"Can we talk about something, Kurt?"

"Of course, anything. Are you okay?" Kurt asked, instantly coming out of his sleepy stupor.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you. I just...it's a beautiful day and I really want to go outside for a run," Blaine blurted out. 

"So go. You have plenty of time while I make breakfast for the masses."

"I can't go. Sam is asleep and Rachel is gone. I don't have anyone to act as escort."

"You don't need an escort, Blaine. You know it's okay with me if you leave the house. Just take your cell with you." Kurt had given him a smart phone loaded with everyone's numbers on Blaine's third day at the house and taught him how to use it. Once he'd gotten over his shock, Blaine quickly fell in love with the device, particularly the music apps. 

"It's not that. I know you don't mind. But it's not safe for me to go alone. I'd risk getting beat up, or even stolen." 

Kurt lowered the coffee cup and stared at him in confusion. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Blaine sighed, staring at the sheets between them. "I'm a slave, Kurt. Your slave. You had to have noticed that most slaves wear collars." He paused, reluctant to continue. "At first I thought you hadn't put one on me because you weren't sure you were keeping me, but Sam said that wasn't the case. Then I waited, wanting to show you how much I could do for you, that I was worth marking. But you say that you're proud of me all the time, and you've sunk several grand into clothes for the show that are specifically tailored to my size, so I'm fairly confident at this point that you have no intention of getting rid of me."

"What? Of course I'm keeping you. And I am proud of you. Everyone here adores you. Why would you think you'd be going anywhere and what does this have to do with a collar?"

"Kurt," Blaine rubbed his eyes. "Sam said I would have to explain this to you, but I really hoped to avoid it. Slaves are property. You mark the property you own. Cars have license plates, clothes get labels, slaves wear collars."

"Collars are for pets. You aren't a pet, Blaine. You know where home is and if someone wants to know where you belong, you can just tell them."

"They won't ask, Kurt. And they may not allow me to volunteer the information. Owners that value their slaves put them in a good, sturdy collar. Generally, slaves that lack collars are either runaways or homeless. Either way they're considered useless things. They don't last long and are usually collected and euthanized by the city as litter." 

Kurt stared at him, speechless. Blaine hunched in on himself, hating the horrified expression on Kurt's face. He shouldn't have said anything; he could live without a damn collar. Except he really couldn't.

"I'm so sorry, Blaine. I had no idea you felt like you weren't valued or were afraid to go outside by yourself. And I'd never risk your safety if I knew there were things I could do to help. I just wish you'd told me sooner."

Blaine nodded, his eyes downcast. "I don't really feel unvalued here. Everyone's really kind to me and you make me feel important all the time. I just didn't want to have to talk about this. I knew it would upset you to talk about it. But...I do need one. I'm sorry, Kurt. But if you want people to leave me alone, a decent collar is kinda vital." Blaine leaned forward to place a kiss to Kurt's cheek, the gesture having become fairly commonplace between the two of them. Feeling awful for smacking Kurt across the face with reality, he quietly left the room so Kurt could get ready. 

Kurt was supposed to make breakfast that morning, but begged off. Instead he sent the lot of them to Panera Bread Co with a company credit card. Without really discussing the matter, they ordered the food to go and ate at a park picnic-style. Sam said it was a great day to eat outside, but Blaine knew it was really so that the staff wouldn't protest his presence in the restaurant. His assurance that it wasn't necessary, he could wait outside, had been completely ignored. Rachel had gone as far as to huff and Finn just rolled his eyes affectionately. 

This wasn't a Sam/Blaine day in the office with Kurt; Rachel and Quinn were scheduled. When they came down barely an hour later, having been released for the day, Blaine started to get concerned. He wanted to check on Kurt but he didn't know if he'd be welcome. He worried that Kurt was mad at him. 

Kurt took off on errands during lunch, and no one saw him return, though they heard foot steps upstairs some time later. Blaine stayed up late into the night, sitting on the couch and worrying. He finally switched off whatever movie he hadn't been watching and headed for his room. Blaine paused at the door, staring at the white jewelry box resting on his pillow with a note tucked beneath it. After a minute, Blaine sat down on the bed and slowly opened the lid.

The collar was stunning. He reached into the box with shaky fingers to pick it up. It was feather light and the expensive dark leather felt butter soft against his fingertips. Gold thread intricately bordered either side of the slim strap. Blaine recognized hand stitching now, and realized that Kurt had almost certainly made this. It explained what he'd been doing with his day. The trademark 'KH' of Kurt Hummel Designs, also hand stitched, was perfectly centered in the same gold thread. An indent on the inner side bore the mandatory 'property of' label, with Kurt's name and cell number stamped into the leather. The snap buckle was a lightweight, brass that accented the gold thread and dark leather perfectly. The clasp was under laced with more leather so that the metal never actually contacted Blaine's skin. A narrow but thick D-ring was pressed laterally against the leather and held flat with a snap so it couldn't accidentally catch on anything or mar the collar's symmetry.

Blaine couldn't wait for Kurt. He slipped the gift around his neck, the clasp smoothly clicking into place. Blaine wasn't the least bit surprised to find that it was a perfect fit: not so tight as to be uncomfortable, not so loose that it would slide and cause skin irritation. 

He reached for the note: 

Blaine-  
I would have given this to you the first day I brought you home if I'd had any inkling that it would make you feel more secure with me or provide safety. I should have thought it through more carefully. I'm sorry for that. As you probably guessed, this is a Kurt Hummel Original. If it doesn't fit right or there's something you'd like changed, let me know and I can make you another. The clasp is a break-away, so you don't need to worry if someone ever puts you in slave-lock. Just tense your neck and tug hard and it should pop right open. Feel free to try it out, it won't cause any damage. You said a collar represented value. I designed this to scream 'tastefully expensive' so loudly that people would know at a glance that you're treasured. 

-Kurt

The tears Blaine had been holding back as he examined the leather were flowing freely by the time he finished reading the note. He took the collar off his neck, reverently setting it onto his nightstand. He'd definitely be testing that break away feature in the morning. Blaine turned off his light and headed for Kurt's darkened room at the end of the hallway. He didn't hesitate to climb under the sheets, crowding close to Kurt's unconscious body.

"Wha..Blaine? You okay, honey? Bad dreams again?" Kurt asked groggily, reaching to pull Blaine in for a cuddle. 

"No. No nightmares. I just went to my room for the first time today a few minutes ago," Blaine replied, placing his head against Kurt's chest to snuggle in.

Kurt stilled a moment as his brain woke enough to remember why that mattered. "Oh." His hand moved up to stroke Blaine's neck.

"I'll try not to wear it in the house," Blaine replied to the surprised noise Kurt made when he felt only skin. 

"But it is beautiful, and perfect," Blaine murmured. He kept the 'just like you' part of that sentence to himself. "Thank you, Kurt." 

Kurt hummed in response, his thumb gently stroking along Blaine's neck, clearly enjoying feeling the skin unobstructed by leather. "You're very welcome. But you can wear it anytime you want to. It's yours." Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's small frame. "Good night, sweetie."

Wrapped securely in Kurt's arms, Blaine sighed in contentment. "Good night, Kurt."  
_____________________________________________________________

"Well, look who finally grew a pair," Sam said cheerfully as a sweaty, gross Blaine came in the front door, fresh from a fantastic morning run. Dressed in expensive exercise gear, wearing his perfect new collar, Blaine had confidently taken off on the running path at dawn. 

Blaine touched the soft leather encircling his neck absently. Finally having a collar was a relief, and having one so obviously high quality still amazed him. But Blaine was most impressed with the thoughtful addition that blocked a slave lock. Slave-lock was a common way to contain slaves, and the method most frequently used to hold them at sales and auctions. The slave's hands were zip-tied behind their back and a collar and leash, often a cheap-one piece the same type as disposable dog leashes, was attached to the slave's neck. The hook on the other end of the leash was a simple thumb latch. It didn't require any kind of lock or key, making the set up quite convenient. As long as the handle of the lead was hooked above the level of their hands, the slave had no way of removing the simple device. It was quick, dirt cheap, and typically quite effective. Blaine had always hated being helplessly hooked to a wall like that.

Blaine shrugged at Sam's words. "It had to be done. Kurt didn't love the conversation, but he made me this right after we talked." He stroked the collar possessively. 

Quinn smiled at him from her perch on the arm of the chair Sam was siting in. Posed together like that, it was obvious why they were so often called the Barbie Twins. Though hopefully, genuine twins never made the sounds those two did at night.

"It's a lovely collar, Blaine," Quinn told him. "Kurt should consider adding them to his line."

"You can suggest it, but I'm pretty sure it won't happen. I don't think he intends to make them for anyone but me." The lovely blonde shrugged, sipping from her water bottle. 

Sam grinned at him. "It's very nice. But we have bigger fish to fry. Go shower ASAP and put on something form fitting. Meet us in the back yard in an hour."

"Uhm. Yes, of course. Am I in trouble?" He'd been scheduled to work with Kurt.

"Nope. But Kurt's got plenty up there to occupy his time up there and I've claimed you for the day. You, my friend, need to learn to strut."  
\------------------------------------------------------

Showering quickly, Blaine threw on a black tank top with black stretch pants. A quick glance in the mirror on his way out rocked him. Blaine swallowed, eyes locked on his reflection. The slave boy from the hotel stared back at him. Blaine hadn't realized when he was getting dressed that he'd inadvertently put on the same uniform he'd worn every day of his previous life. Distantly, Blaine was aware that his heart was pounding in his chest. He sensed eyes everywhere, scanning him, evaluating his body, deciding just how they wanted to use him. He flinched, feeling the phantom hands of strangers stroking his skin, holding him down; they were everywhere. He couldn't breathe. 

Blaine started tugging frantically at his shirt, trying to yank it off but only succeeded in getting tangled in the straps, trapping his arms. Not again! He was never going back to that. He came back to himself enough to realize that this was a panic attack. He wasn't at the hotel. There was no one in the room but him. Blaine stilled his frantic efforts, forcing himself to take several slow, deep, calming breaths. 

Blaine straightened his posture from its hunched state, slowly untangling himself from the straps. After several minutes of slow breathing, Blaine deliberately looked back into the mirror. This time he really looked, taking in the full picture. The man staring back had lines of muscle on his arms. His face no longer looked gaunt, he'd fleshed out a bit with unlimited to access to quality food. He stood tall, not hunched in submission, and looked at ease in a way that Blaine had never been able to afford in the past. He wore a beautiful, expensive, hand-crafted leather collar given to him by his amazing owner. Blaine knew that if he wanted to, he could trot up the stairs, joke with, tease, even flirt a little with that owner until the beautiful man broke out in the light, warm laughter that Blaine adored. 

He could slip into bed with that same man any evening (and frequently did). Blaine would be held close all night, safe from the nightmares that plagued him. Or maybe he'd be the one to do the holding, pulling Kurt's firm body against his, hearing the purr of contentment Kurt only made when he was too sleepy and comfortable to notice. Blaine had nothing in common with the abused, barely tolerated boy he'd been. He smoothed his shirt back down, aborting his plans to put on a different color. He looked good in black. 

The panic attack had left him running late so he made do with a brief pit stop at the kitchen, grabbing a protein bar and a peach on his way to the back yard. Sam was fiddling with an IPOD speaker while Quinn stretched out elegantly in a long lawn chair. A length of red carpet spanned the length of the yard.

"There you are," Sam said, grinning excitedly. "Take a seat. 'Walking Like You're the Hottest Shit on the Planet' will begin shortly." Blaine took a spot on one of the chairs and watched Sam attentively.

"Okay, so there's an art to the runway swagger. It's not just stand, strike a pose and leave. There will be a sea of people, bright lights, tons of flash photography and super loud, awful music. From the moment you set foot out there until you're back in the wings, you need to own that stage. All those people, all that stuff, is there for you. They all want to look at you and that's exactly how it should be. You're are sexy as fuck and deserve to be adored."

"It's not that simple, of course," Quinn added. "But that's a healthy mindset. Thinking, knowing, you're gorgeous is a very important part of being attractive. Confidence is one of the greatest aphrodisiacs in the world. If you know everyone wants you, they'll sense that and respond." She smiled innocently, a look Blaine had learned concealed a devious and intelligent mind. 

"Next, you need to know how to move," Quinn continued. "Be graceful, fluid, like your joints are made of water. Sharp, jerky movements aren't nearly as pretty as flowing, artful poses. Let me show you what I mean." She rose from her spot and walked over to the far end of the carpet. "Hit it," she called to Sam, arching her chin imperiously.

The radio burst to life. 'I'm too sexy for my love...too sexy for my love love's going to leaavee.' As the cheesy pop song kicked on, Blaine started to laugh. 

At her end of the 'runway', Quinn yelled an incredulous "Really?!" at Sam who only laughed back.

He plopped down next to Blaine with a wink. "Work it gurl, you got this!!" He hollered encouragingly.

Quinn paused for a moment in consideration, then smiled sweetly and delicately flipped Sam the bird. Then she stepped onto the carpet. Quinn's posture changed, becoming haughty, arrogant...and sexy. She strolled down the carpet, managing to move quickly but still appear unhurried. She stopped mid way, turning sideways for invisible cameras to admire. She kept her arms away from her body, first on a popped hip, them one over the shoulder, then smoothly oozed back into motion. She paused at the end, her gaze locked on Sam, the cold stare she gave him clearly stating that she was too good for him and knew it. She held the pose a second before spinning and walked back, swaying her hips rhythmically with each step.

As she reached the far end Sam whooped, standing and clapping. "Ohh, Ice-princess. Me-love-you-long-time!"

Quinn laughed, curtseying gracefully. "Now, reset the song," she called down. Sam hit reset and the masculine voice again began cataloging things he was too sexy for. When Quinn walked this time, it was like a different girl was on the carpet. Her motions were the same, but she didn't slink the way she had the first time. Her smile was vacant, and she wasn't engaging the audience. When she popped a hip it wasn't a smooth motion and looked almost robotic. She was still stunning, but didn't command the audience's attention as she had at first. 

Blaine thought that this second walk could be done half naked and still wouldn't be as compelling as that first one. Now he understood the difference between striking a pose and owning it. As Quinn turned to walk back to her starting point, her steps were less graceful, still pretty but not as dynamic as her previous hip sway. Quinn could probably make sweat pants look sexy when she moved with that sway. 

Quinn resumed he seat while Sam turned off the radio. "And that, right there, is everything you need to know about the runway walk," Sam told Blaine with obvious admiration. "That second walk was pretty standard for a beginner. You'll see a lot of that. People that think being pretty is enough. It's not. It takes practice and hard work to make being sexy look so effortless."

"How do I learn to move like that?" Blaine asked, awed and charmed. 

Quinn smiled, accepting the praise as her due. "Honestly? Practicing with Sam and myself will get you where you need to be, but if you want be really good, I've always found the best way is to dance. Nothing teaches you how to use your body better than dancing. It's also fun and great cardio. You don't have to do ballroom or anything so structured. Actually, something freeing like salsa, swing, or even unchoreographed club-style dancing is best. You get used to feeling the beat and how to move your body."

She leaned forward, "That's actually my own personal method. I play a melody in my head as I walk and move in time to my own music. That way it doesn't look like I'm stuck on whatever's playing out loud and helps keep my movements consistent and even."

Then it was Sam's turn. Blaine sat back, excited to see what the muscular model could do. Quinn messed with the radio a bit before making her selection. Apparently picking obnoxious songs for the other person was part of the game. A scratchy record mix started up followed by a background voice repeatedly declaring that 'funk will get ya'. 

Sam crowed at the far end in approval of the musical selection. He rolled his hips a bit as the melody built. Then he set foot on the carpet. 

'Don't be shocked, by the tone of my voice, check out my new weapon, weapon of choice...'

While Quinn was a Disney Princess made flesh, Sam was SEX. He strode down the carpet, managing to slightly sway his hips in a way that was still inherently masculine, just enough movement to keep his stride fluid. He struck a pose in the exact same place Quinn had, but instead of popping a hip, he slid his arms behind his back, causing his chest to pop forward and his wide shoulders to straighten. He wore a casual grin that clearly implied that he knew just how good he looked but there was a very definite chance he might be into you. His stage persona was very real, a contrast to Quinn's beauty from afar. His gestures were sharper then Quinn's but they worked for him. He posed when he reached the end, warm eyes locking with Blaine's, radiating a smoky intensity that seethed with heat and left the slave nearly panting. Sam relaxed his posture, hands casually sliding into his pocket, one leg slightly forward and smiled enticingly. The quintessential man-about-town on the prowl. He turned after the pause, walking back like he owned the place, unhurried and smooth. 

"What do you think?" an amused voice murmured in Blaine's ear, causing him to leap half out of his chair. A familiar hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "If we jump him at the same time can we can bring him to the ground? Either way, wrestling against that body is a win." 

"I was thinking more along the lines of taking the hose to him," Blaine whispered back in amusement. "For his own good. He clearly needs to be cooled down before he bursts into flame. And that white tee he's wearing would get tragically soaked and stick to his abs." Blaine curled his fingers around Kurt's on his shoulder, leaning back slightly. 

Sam might be hotter than the sun, but Blaine would choose the trim form and flawless skin of his owner any day. Kurt was warm and likeable; he didn't scream 'Player' like Sam. Kurt's sweetness and regard, added to a gentle beauty all his own, made him more attractive than all of Sam's muscle. It was like Quinn's displays, Blaine realized. Kurt was her first walk, desirable and beautiful and perfect, while Sam was the second, still amazing, definitely hot, but not quite right. And Kurt was just as unavailable to him as the Ice Princess.  
______________________________________________

Walk practice was added to Blaine's standard routine. Sometimes it was Quinn, sometimes Sam, or both depending on their respective schedules. Rachel took a several turns as well, schooling Blaine in poses, explaining how to hold an arm or leg the exact right angle to best showcase what he was wearing. She was all about technique, and it clearly worked for her. Rachel's walks were serene and silk, proud with just enough arrogance to pull attention. She was her own brand of striking, different than the Barbie twins, a little more raw and less polished, but no less amazing for the difference. 

And then there was the dancing. Blaine had forgotten a long time ago how much he used to love to dance. Now that he was reacquainting himself with the activity, he never wanted to stop. He would turn the music on in his room and just move, letting go of self awareness or agenda, losing himself to fun and rhythm. The first time Kurt had caught him at it he'd turned beet red, horribly embarrassed. Kurt had just laughed, told him he was adorable beyond words and kissed his cheek. 

Sometimes Kurt would even dance with Blaine, rocking out and swaying his hips to Beyonce or Lady Gaga. To make up for embarrassing him, Kurt once trotted out in a glitzy unitard and showed Blaine his patented 'coming-out-to-Dad' dance. As he strutted his stuff, swaying his hips so hard Blaine worried about damage, he theatrically mimicked a ringless finger in time to the lyrics. Blaine laughed so hard he was crying by the time Kurt was done with his routine. He plopped next to Blaine on the bed, elbowing him and theatrically scowling at his laughter. Blaine couldn't help but hug him tight while he continued to chuckle, relishing the sweaty body hugging him back. "I loved it," he told Kurt honestly. Blaine turned his head away, hiding the realization that what he'd really meant was 'I love you.'

Blaine didn't worry much about his newfound discovery that he was hopelessly in love with his owner. By necessity, he had become very self aware, and honestly, it didn't really surprise him. It was practically inevitable, given their relationship. And Kurt was extremely loveable. Blaine was actually surprised it had taken as long as it did for him to fall for the beautiful, amazing designer who'd saved his life. 

Blaine spent as much time as he could with Kurt, simply enjoying keeping him company. And if he occasionally mourned the future, when someone else would realize how perfect Kurt was and take his breath away, Blaine carefully kept it to himself. He prepared as best he could, bracing himself for the inevitable heart-break of watching Kurt be with someone else, picturing it in his head frequently so he could get used to the idea. It really was the only way it could be. 

Even if Kurt for some inexplicable reason might some day reciprocate Blaine's feelings, what could the slave offer? He couldn't take Kurt anywhere, buy him presents, treat him like he deserved. There was no future for his infatuation and Blaine made his peace with that, choosing to treasure as much of Kurt as he could have. It was already so much more then he'd dared to hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Quinn danced to was ''I'm Too Sexy,' by Right Said Fred. Sam's song was "Weapon of Choice," by Fatboy Slim and if you haven't seen the video you really need to. Go to YouTube. Right now ;-)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter makes me a little nervous. The Glee guys are established characters that everyone already knows. All I have to do is try to stay as true to them as possible. Kitten is all mine and I love her, but I have no idea how well she'll be received. I hope you like this chapter. Be honest. I can probably rewrite her to be Kitty Wilde if it's terrible.

One week until the Mayflower Fashion Show...

 

A knock on his bedroom door startled Blaine awake. He sat up quickly, his body instantly bracing for flight. He relaxed when he saw a sleepy Kurt wander in, looking scruffy and not even a little bit awake, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. He handed one to Blaine, and plopped next to him on the bed. Kurt very rarely woke before him, but as Blaine hadn't been scheduled to work until the afternoon, he hadn't set the alarm. 

"Uhm, good morning?" Blaine began cautiously. "Did I forget something?" He was pretty sure he hadn't, but this was unusual enough to make him doubt.

"Of course not," Kurt replied. He paused, taking a long drink from his mug. "But I nearly did. The show is next weekend and I totally forgot that I wanted to introduce you to Kitten in advance. It's better that way, like getting a vaccine before you're exposed to the disease. Anyway, I'm reasonably on schedule and you were the only one I was going to work with today, so I thought this morning was as good a time as any. The others have been at me for a group day off so they could go to Six Flags. Apparently, they're twelve. Mark this day, it is 7:20 in the morning and we are the only ones in the house. The whole lot are up and gone."

"That's possible?" Blaine asked incredulously. He hadn't been aware that Finn was capable of rising before ten, and Sam was little better. 

Kurt chuckled. "It would seem so. And the unholy mess they left of the kitchen lends credence to the assumption." He rose back to his feet, briefly handing Blaine his mug so could stretch. "So, I'm going to go start on that. Why don't you get up and shower and we'll trek out to Kitten's place in a little bit?"

Blaine slid out of bed behind him, handing back the coffee. "Sure. As soon as I help you clean the kitchen."  
****

Kurt had told him the drive was about an hour so Blaine dressed for comfort. It was a beautiful, crisp day out and Blaine promptly rolled down his window while Kurt set up a playlist they'd both enjoy. Blaine frequently rode with Kurt when he went on errands and sometimes, when a particularly fun song came on they'd end up singing together. His owner had a striking voice and Blaine loved their little impromptu duets. Kurt appeared to enjoy the activity as well, since he usually ended up grinning like a cherub by the time the song ended. 

Their destination appeared to be a large warehouse that had been retrofitted into a gym. Blaine crowded close behind Kurt as they entered, his hand reflexively stroking his neck for reassurance. The solid feel of leather against his fingers never failed to help soothe his nerves. 

The main area was full of weight machines and free weights while a dozen or so heavy bags hung from a section in the corner where a kick boxing class was in progress. A full balcony ran along the perimeter of the structure, forming a small second floor with what appeared to be office doors spaced throughout. But the gym's main feature was a giant, floor-level sparring ring that took up the majority of the left quadrant of the space. Several people were leaning along the ropes, throwing cat-calls at the two combatants currently engaged in some form of martial arts match inside the ring. Spectators lined the narrow path of the second floor area as well, clearly enjoying the show. 

Kurt tugged him into a corner at the outskirts of the little arena. The view wasn't perfect, but he could see well enough. More importantly, they were far enough back to be well away from the rambunctious crowd, something Blaine was grateful for. He didn't do well when he was jostled by strangers, and Kurt always took care not to take him out to super crowded places. 

Blaine watched as the two men in the little arena circled one another, periodically throwing a punch or kick. The smaller of the two looked like he'd taken quite a pummeling so far. He dodged a sharp jab from his opponent only to take a telling kick to the stomach when he didn't turn away fast enough. Blaine winced in sympathy, knowing all to well how much that hurt. The man dropped to the ground, tapping the mat and hunching into a tight ball. The sharp kick his opponent gave to the losing man's side explained why he'd curled up protectively even after yielding. The spectators didn't seem to appreciate the unsportsmanlike behavior, crying foul and yelling at the victor. Blaine noticed a fair amount of money changing hands amid the small throng. 

"I'm unstoppable!" The man crowed, bouncing in place a little. "Anyone else want to take a shot?" The man was very tall, heavily corded with long muscle and his blows earlier had been skilled and fast. Blaine couldn't imagine what would compel someone to accept the challenge. 

"Do you really think so?" A light voice called, sounding amused. "I say we test that hypothesis" 

The number of spectators abruptly doubled, people stopping mid workout to gather around the ring. Voices rose, enthusiastically cheering the proposition while others hastily placed bets. Blaine stared as a petite girl that couldn't be an inch over five feet tall leapt up to sit on the top ropes, demurely crossing one leg over the other. Her bright red hair was pulled back in a long braid reminiscent of Katniss Everdeen. The girl's skin was pale and freckled, and her emerald green Irish eyes were smiling devilishly. Her mouth, however, was set in a warm little smile that looked both sweet and innocent. 

Blaine saw the tiny girl and hoped she had a friend or brother to back up the bold words. He didn't trust the dirty fighter not to harm her. Blaine could see the spark in those bright eyes, and pegged her as one whose mouth wrote checks her body couldn't cash, mistakenly assuming a man wouldn't hit a girl. 

She glanced around at the crowd, chuckling. "Wow, Tommy. Look at all those people who want us to rumble. You don't seem to have too many friends out there. And you've only been here a month. How'd you manage to antagonize everyone so fast? I mean, do you suppose it's your sparkling personality or that sloppy mess you call technique that bothers people?" She paused a moment in contemplation. "Personally, I think it's just because you're an asshole."

She hopped off the rope, sauntering casually towards the fighter. "Honestly, you aren't horrible looking. When you first got here I seriously considered taking you for a test drive. But then I saw how you fight and figured if you screw half that bad, you aren't worth the the effort of changing the sheets afterwards. Word around the water cooler is that I was right about that, by the way."

Blaine watched the two warily. He didn't like how amped the crowd appeared. He was startled to hear Kurt chuckle a little at the girl's taunt. 

"What the hell does that mean?" The big man, Tommy apparently, asked angrily.

The girl rolled her eyes. "It means, that reportedly your ego is by far your biggest...attribute." 

"Listen here you little..."

"Nope, done listening. Bored," she interrupted him . "This crowd clearly wants some action and I aim to misbehave. So you gonna strut some more, little peacock, or are we going to spar?"

"I was going to be polite and not beat down a fellow Sensei in front of her clients," Tommy replied through clenched teeth. "But since you insist on humiliating yourself..."

Blaine pressed up close to Kurt's back so he could whisper into his ear. "Isn't someone going to do something about this? I understand that she's mouthing off pretty badly, but that guy looks about twice her weight and at least a foot taller."

Kurt glanced back over his shoulder at Blaine and winked. "You're right. It hardly seems fair, does it? Someone should give the guy a weapon or something." Kurt chuckled. "Relax sweetie, it'll be fine." Before Blaine could answer, the girl hopped down and stepped to the center of the mat. 

She grinned merrily, turning to holler at a section of the second floor balcony. "DJ, play me something appropriate for ass-kicking!" A minute later the opening notes of Smooth Criminal bled through the house speakers. The girl laughed and adopted a martial arts stance. Tommy mirrored her pose and both combatants bowed to each other to the sound of a crescendo. 

Tommy threw a quick, powerful punch that sent him staggering forward when he missed his target. Blaine blinked. He'd barely seen the girl move when she dodged. In another blur of movement she grabbed the arm that had shot past her and yanked it forward. Tommy lost his balance but spun out and away, recovered quickly, and began striking in earnest. 

Even to Blaine's inexperienced eyes it quickly became clear that this match was done. The petite girl whirled like a dervish, dodging the big man's strikes and blows like he was moving through molasses. Every kick or punch she launched struck home, and Tommy's stagger marked just how heavily those blows connected. The audience was cheering and calling out, clearly enjoying the match. Blaine was not even a little entertained, and hoped the match would be over quickly. He'd seen boxing on T.V. and liked it well enough, but in real life he found the violence not exciting so much as scary. He pressed up a little closer to Kurt for reassurance. 

The girl ducked under a high kick that would have nailed her in the skull, dropping into a low crouch while Tommy's right leg was still at full extension. She twisted as she dropped, smoothly sweeping Tommy's left leg out from under him, effectively knocking her opponent to the ground. She rolled over to where he'd landed on his back and jabbed a sharp elbow into his abdomen.

"You're done," she told the groaning man as she stood up. "I was being nice when I gave you that elbow in the stomach instead of the crotch. Say 'thank you."

"Thank you," Tommy wheezed. And it was over.

The crowed roared in delight, calling out to the girl. In the background, Michael Jackson's voice slowly faded into the background. Blaine blinked. Had that whole match gone down in just a few minutes? It had felt like much longer. The girl was bowing theatrically, casually scanning the crowd until her gaze landed on Kurt and Blaine. 

"Kurt!"

Shrieking in delight, the red-head hurdled the ropes and barreled towards them, leaping into Kurt's arms and wrapping her legs around his waist, clinging tightly. She tried to kiss him on the mouth, but Kurt was laughing too hard and she ended up connecting with his nose. "Hi, Kitten," Kurt told her in amusement, "I've missed you, too." Blaine stared while the girl clung tighter, clearly thrilled.

"Now get the hell off of me you sweaty, disgusting leprechaun," Kurt added, trying to shove the clingy barnacle away. "If you mess up my clothes you're a dead girl." Kitten laughed, sliding down Kurt's taller body to the ground. She leaned around him to see Blaine standing there, wide eyed.

"Oh, Kurt. You got a puppy! He's so adorable, can I pet him?"

What was with girls comparing him to a baby dog? Blaine wondered in carefully concealed annoyance, thinking back to Santana's insistence on calling him a poodle. 

"Kitten, please don't be a bitch," Kurt replied. "This is Blaine. Blaine this is Kitten, sometimes Hailey when she remembers that she's an adult. Kitten you may shake his hand but absolutely no molesting." 

Kitten sighed. "Killjoy." Still, she smiled warmly at Blaine and extended her hand.

Blaine tentatively placed his hand in hers, relieved when the girl took it in a firm, slightly sweaty, but non-painful grip. "It's good to meet you, Sweetling," Hailey told him. "Are you Kurt's new boytoy?" 

"No, I mean yes, I'm Kurt's slave, but I'm not..." 

Kitten snorted, interrupting the slave's stuttered response. "You're straight? Color me shocked. Well, Kurt's loss is Kitten's gain. Tell me gorgeous; what's your pleasure? I can do hot, heavy, fierce, fun, romantic..."

Kurt insinuated himself in front of Blaine. "Kitten, your idea of romance is to hit the poor guy with a club and drag him to your cave. Blaine is not talking about his sexual orientation, he's telling you we don't have sex."

"But I am 100% gay," Blaine interjected quickly, dropping his gaze when she looked back at him with interest. He hoped she wasn't one of those girls who saw that as a challenge. She was handsy enough as it was.

Kitten surprised him by nodding agreeably, instantly dropping her leer. "Yeah, I thought so. In which case you're royally missing out, not tapping this fine ass,"she told him, smacking Kurt firmly in the posterior. 

Kurt yelped, catching Blaine's arm for balance before turning to give her a full Kurt Hummel Stare. "Hailey Rain O'Neill, we have a standing agreement. Looking is okay, admiring is fine, touching is no-no." 

She sighed heavily. "You're right, you're right. Sorry." Her eyes sparkled, "Can I kiss it better?"

"Not even a little. Are you free for coffee?"  
\------------------------

Kitten had a class to teach but promised to meet up with them at a local coffee shop in and hour and a half. 

"Let's go get lunch," Kurt offered as they left the gym. "You look like you have about 10,000 questions." 

"Maybe not quite that many," Blaine murmured, following Kurt to a sandwich shop. They ordered food to go and headed for a park they'd driven past that looked promising. They found a picnic table and settled their food neatly on a small towel. 

"So, shoot. I'll tell you anything I know," Kurt offered. "But I warn you, it's not all that much. She doesn't like to talk about her past."

"Okay, um, well. For starters, is she insane?"

"Very much, yes," Kurt agreed with a perfectly straight face. "Next question."

"She's supposed to be looking out for me at this show, right? Keeping people you don't want to have me from simply grabbing me and doing what they want?"

"That's the plan. And no one gets to touch you, unless you want them to, of course. There are some beauties at this thing, you might meet someone you like. I'll make sure Kitten knows that once you're off work for the night you can go where you want." Blaine ducked his head. He really wasn't keen on the idea of sex with anyone, though he did appreciate what Kurt was trying to do. 

"Kitten will basically be your shadow from the moment you walk out the door until you're back in our hotel room," Kurt explained, reaching for a pickle. "I promise, despite any...rough edges, she's an excellent body guard." 

"She seems kind of violent. You're sure she won't do..umm...anything to me?" He was absolutely certain that the tiny Sensei could do pretty much whatever she wanted to him if she was of a mind to.

"Yeah, she can be pretty physical," Kurt agreed. "They may call her Kitten but she's really more of a demon tiger from hell. But for this weekend, she's your demon tiger. She has an odd set of morals but she's dedicated to them." Kurt paused to take a bite of his sandwich, trying to think about what else he needed to share about his crazy friend.

"She doesn't lie, ever, though she can be creative with the truth. If she makes you a promise you can count on her keeping to the spirit of it. Kitten doesn't sweat small stuff, like what people think of her or, you know, money." 

"Okay. Good to know. I just need to find a way make her promise not to hurt or molest me and I'll be safe." Kurt snorted at Blaine's tone, unconcerned. "How is she that good a fighter?" Blaine asked, picking at his food.

"First off, she won't hurt you. Part of her ethos is to 'do no harm to those less able then her until they prove themselves assholes'. And she has a serious thing for underdogs. That's actually how we met. I was cornered by some pretty obnoxious bullies and the next thing I know they're all on the ground and this redhead is telling me my butt looks great in my jeans and asks me to buy her a latte. Anyway, as long as you don't go around bullying people less able to defend themselves then you, which is basically no one, then you're fine. And she's taken martial arts all her life. Literally, like by the time she was walking her mom was teaching her punches. I honestly don't know a whole lot about that part of her life. If she shares anything, do tell."

Blaine cleaned up their lunch while Kurt did a few work things on his phone and then two men headed over to the coffee shop to wait. They had just taken a seat on the outdoor patio when a freshly scrubbed Kitten plopped into the chair next to Blaine. "Hey boys, you hotties wanna treat a girl to a good old fashioned devil's three-way?"

Kurt snorted. "Not on a dare. Keep your sordid fantasies to yourself." 

"It seldom goes the way you think it will, anyway," Blaine murmured. 

"You don't say?" Kitten asked, eyeing the slave with interest. "Tell me sweetheart, how'd you come by that particular tidbit, my little gold star gay?"

"Because I spent the last several years being fucked by anyone who wanted me, any way they wanted. And after having been a participant in several of those, most of which went poorly, I can tell you that they seldom go the way you think. And I don't get that particular gold star." 

Kitten's eyes gleamed intently but before she could ask whatever she was about to, Kurt unsubtly kicked her under the table.

"Owie! The fuck, Kurtling?!"

"Behave, Hailey," Kurt chided. "No grilling him."

"I've killed men for less," Kitten told him darkly, rubbing at her shin. 

"That's nice. So, we came out here so you can meet Blaine and we can go over details for next week," Kurt told her, unfazed by the threat.

A barista came out to take her order, glancing over at Blaine and raising an eyebrow. Aware he was being stared at for sitting at the table, Blaine hunched in on himself and dropped his gaze uncomfortably. Being out with Kurt and the clan was worth the frequent glares from servers, but it still made him nervous. Usually, they simply took food to places where he'd be left alone, but Kitten had wanted to meet here. At least with his collar in plain view, he couldn't be accused of trying to hide his status. That was a quick way to a euthanasia needle, whether Kurt wanted to allow it or not. Most slave guidelines were fairly open to owner's preference but that was one law the government was very firm on. 

Kurt caught the server's look and glared back warningly. Kitten appeared to ignore the whole interchange and ordered a dirty chai. After another glance at Blaine that left the slave shivering in his chair, the barista shrugged indifferently and went back inside to fill Kitten's order. Blaine uncurled a little, relaxing when Kurt took his hand, holding it openly on the table.

"That's adorable, Kurt. Look at you getting all protective-like," Kitten cooed. "Speaking of protecting, what day again? Next week, you said?" She frowned. "Kurt, you know you're always a priority for me but I think I'm already booked." She checked her phone. "Yup, though I didn't log who I hired on with. I guess I need to figure that out." 

"Was it several months ago?"

"Uhm, yes. Why?"

"That would be me."

She blinked. "Oh! Right! Well, that explains why I didn't add more details. Okay, so, next week. Let's see, that's the Mayflower Thread Show, yes?" 

"Yes, it is. I need you for guard duty for the weekend."

"No problemo. Whose body am I covering this year? Please tell me it's yours this time? Or is it that sexy blonde Neanderthal again? Cuz, seriously Kurt, one word: stamina." 

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You never fail to horrify me, darling. No, as far as I know Sam has no crazy stalkers this year. I hired you for Blaine."

She eyed the slave, who cautiously met her gaze a second before dropping his eyes. Hailey's face took an uncharacteristically solemn expression. "Kurt. You know I adore you and have your back for most anything, but I'm not running sales for the boy. I don't care how experienced he is or how he's been used previously. I'm fine with guarding his body but you'll need to find someone else to sell it." Blaine suddenly felt a lot better and smiled softly, though he kept his eyes fixed on the table. 

Just then the barista came back, handing Kitten her drink and accepting the cash she was handed. She ducked back in quickly without asking if anyone else wanted anything. As soon as she was gone, Kurt turned back to glare at Kitten. "Excuse you, Little Miss?! Exactly what part of our history leads you to believe that I'd force anything on anyone? Particularly sex!"

"Well, you paid money to own a sex slave, Kurt. It is a fair assumption," Kitten replied logically. Kurt slumped a bit and Blaine was quick to rub his arm reassuringly. 

"Kurt's never touched me, Ma'am. Not once. He hasn't allowed anyone else to, either. And since he literally saved my life, I'm more than grateful he bought me." Kurt smiled into Blaine's warm golden eyes, squeezing the hand interlaced with his.

Kitten watched the two, concealing her delight. Well, that was interesting. Perhaps there was more going on then Kurt's protective nature kicking in. "Alrightly, then. In that case, I'm totally on board. I'll meet you at the hotel Friday afternoon. Text me your and my room numbers when you get in, would you?" She reached a hand out to Blaine. "Phone. Give it up." 

He hesitated before pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it over. A minute later Kitten's phone beeped. "Okay, cutie. We have now exchanged numbers. I'll see you Friday and we can go over the details for the weekend. In the meantime, feel free to text me anytime. Questions, comments, death threats...ooh, and jokes. I love jokes. Especially pirate ones. And puns. Love puns." Kitten stood, winked at Blaine and hugged Kurt before sauntering back the way she came. 

Blaine watched Kitten go with mixed emotions. He was quite sure that the intense, crazy girl was more than capable of watching over him. Now if only there was someone who'd be watching her...


	9. Chapter 9

The final week before the fashion show was a blur of preparation in the Hummel household. Finn, who usually helped keep things flowing evenly, was in and out constantly, running last minute errands and seeing to any details or changes as they appeared. Kurt pretty much existed in a state of perpetual stress, and Blaine had a devil of a time trying to keep his owner fed. He'd taken to carrying protein bars with him at all times and sticking one in the designer's hand whenever Kurt was too distracted to yet again tell him, "No, Blaine. I'm still not hungry." Instead, Kurt downed coffee by the gallon and kept late hours in his upstairs studio. 

Blaine now spent every night in Kurt's bed, cajoling Kurt to join him when the evening grew too late. More than once Blaine mentioned how the lack of sleep could be affecting own health. He didn't feel the least bit bad about the blatant manipulation either; he was just relieved that it worked. Kurt never really talked about how often they were sharing his bed, but he never sent Blaine away either.

None too soon for Blaine, Friday morning rolled around and both Hummel Design vans took off to the host hotel for the Mayflower Threads Fashion Show. Kurt had booked several rooms; one each for Sam, Quinn, Rachel, Tobais, Finn, and himself. He wanted to try to find one for Blaine despite the hotel being filled beyond capacity but the slave assured him he was perfectly happy staying in Kurt's room. It wasn't as if the two didn't sleep together anyway, Blaine reasoned. Kurt conceded the point and gave the room he'd originally booked for Tobias to Kitten.  
*******

As soon as Kurt settled things in their room, he went downstairs to oversee the loading of his supplies from the vans to his locked prep-room. This was also his personal area to finalize his models appearances before they hit the catwalk. Blaine followed along, taking mental notes and staying close while still trying to look at everything. This hotel was so much larger than his had been. And it was so crowded. Blaine stopped to gawk at the Grand Ballroom on the way to Kurt's prep room, and when he turned back he realized that Kurt had disappeared. 

After several minutes of fruitlessly searching through the bustling crowd and finding no sign of his owner, Blaine started to seriously worry. He swallowed back the first hints of a panic attack and reached into his back pocket for his cell phone. Before he could reach it Blaine was abruptly grabbed by the waist and dragged away to a side hallway and slammed face first against the wall. He froze in terror, feeling a firm body press up against his back. He forced himself to be still and calm, frantically searching for the right words to get him out of this situation.

"You ought to be more careful, my sweet Afternoon Delight," a voice purred against his ear in a warm, silky tone. "Running around loose like that, people might get ideas." 

Blaine sagged for a second before roughly bucking the body off him and spinning around. "Oh My God, Kitten! Please don't do that, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Kitten had been texting him regularly over the week and Blaine had gotten somewhat used to, if not completely comfortable, with his crazy guardian. 

The Irish lass backed away, hands in the air defensively while laughing merrily. "Easy there, puppy. It was just a joke. No need to yip." 

Blaine was still trying to get his heart rate under control when a well put-together older man wandered by, wearing a tag identifying him as a designer. He glanced in Blaine's direction with interest. "Well, that's cute. Whom does he belong to?" 

Blaine swallowed, but before he could answer, Kitten insinuated herself in front of him. "Not to you, perv," she told the man. "That's all you need to know. Move along now, there's nothing you get to see here."

The man's eyes flashed arrogantly and he turned his full attention to the pair. "Well, we're going to have to disagree on that point, Im afraid." His eyes glanced down to Kitten's badge where she was clearly designated as security, a lower level position. "Why don't you walk away, my dear, while I have a chat with the boy."

Kitten rolled her eyes. "And by chat, you mean 'massage his asshole with your dick,' I'm assuming. God, this is boring. Bugger off, you. Isn't it time for your Metamucil?" Kitten's voice was openly dismissive and she'd started looking around for something more interesting then what was in front of her; namely the enraged, high profile designer. Blaine cringed. 

The man gestured and two extremely muscular men with the same 'private security' name tags as Kitten's walked up. "Gentlemen, would one of you escort this extremely crude little girl out of my sight?" One of them, a large man in a sleeveless tee who sported a long mohawk stepped forward.

"Hi Noah," Kitten greeted cheerfully.

"Kitten?! Holy hell, I didn't hear you were working this weekend." The man surged forward to hug her. "Who are you signed on with?"

"I'm with Hummel Designs. He's up and coming so he can't afford me, but I gave him the 'world's sexiest butt' discount." Kitten winked cheekily. 

Noah laughed, rolling his eyes at the girl. "Kurt Hummel? Damn, I haven't seen him since he tipped me off about the private security gigs for these things. I'll need to pop in later to hang out. Are you pit-bulling the Hummel wardrobe room, then?"

"Nope, strictly bodyguard duty for me. Specifically, the cutie tucked behind me." 

Noah looked curiously at Blaine, who watched the bigger man warily from his place behind Kitten. Blaine had no qualms about hiding behind the girl. It wasn't as if he could do anything to defend himself. Plus, she'd kinda started the whole thing in the first place by getting mouthy.

"Are you going to remove her sometime this week?" The designer asked testily.

Puck snorted. "No way. Just rent the damn slave tomorrow after the show if you want to get your rocks off with him that bad."

"He won't be available for private rental," Kitten shared helpfully. 

"Is there a reason you won't do your job?" The designer asked his hired security with a huff.

"Sure is. I like my bones in nice, solid pieces, not cracked and jutting out of my skin," Puck replied, shrugging. 

The designer scowled and looked to the other security man he had with him. The guy hastily shook his head. "Don't look at me, I'm with Puck on this one. That Kitten chick has a wild rep. I heard she was raised by Russian mafia." 

"Or wolves," Puck added. "Wasn't that the word going around at one point?" He winked at the petite redhead.

Kitten laughed, leaning casually back against Blaine. "Aww, gee, you're making me blush. Speaking of blushing, Noah, you have my number if you're free later tonight." 

Puck's smiled turned into a leer, and he took a minute to boldly run his eyes down her body. "I'll text you when I'm off duty."

The two men stood there awkwardly, not looking at their boss. Clearly they had no intention of making a move. Finally the designer scowled and turned away. Puck waved goodbye, blowing Kitten a kiss as his group disappeared around the corner.

Blaine glanced over to his guardian. "So, Russian wolves, huh?"

She laughed. "Something like that. And don't you judge me, that man kisses like a fiend. And don't even get me started on his gigantic..."

Just then Blaine's phone started chirping and he answered a frantic Kurt who'd been looking everywhere for him. Kitten stole the phone from him, telling Kurt to chill out, she had Blaine and she'd give him the grand tour while Kurt did his thing, before handing the phone back. After calming Kurt down, Blaine promised to stay with his bodyguard. 

Blaine wanted to go back to the grand ballroom so he could get a better look at the Cat Walk. Kitten didn't seem to mind and guided him back to the giant conference room. He leaned against the wall out of the way of the bustling crowd, staring at the high stage. Tomorrow he'd be dressed in Kurt's finest, strutting down that narrow stage for a room filled to bursting with people. Blaine tried hard not to think about how many of the people in the crowd would be planning on fucking him later. He didn't realize he'd started shaking until Kitten was there, rubbing a hand along his arm.

"Blaine, hun," she murmured. "Relax. You won't have your collar on up there. Most of the crowd won't even know you're a slave. And the walk really is all about the glitz, glamour, and gossip. All anyone will be thinking about is who you're wearing. They reserve all thoughts about taking those clothes off for later, where the alcohol lives. Anyway, I'll be with you every second of the evening. You won't even get to take a leak without me leaning against the stall door." She grinned. "See if I'm kidding about that." 

Blaine leaned into her side, feeling an arm slip around his waist. It wasn't Kurt's, but it would do. He sniffled a laugh, not doubting that Kitten would indeed follow him into a bathroom. He stayed that way, eyes glued to the glitzy plank bisecting the room.

Kitten gave him some time before deciding enough was enough. She caught Blaine's elbow, tugging him out of the room. "I'm starving. Let's go up to your room, order tons of room service, and watch hot man-on-man porn." 

"Or," Blaine countered. "How about we stop in at the restaurant across the street for take away and watch a musical?"

"Beauty and the Beast." 

"Peter Pan," Blaine replied.

"Firefly?"

"Done." Blaine had eaten enough hotel food to last a lifetime. Ordinarily he had no qualms with Disney films, they'd been a go-to for him on many a sleepless night during that first month Kurt had owned him. But Blaine decided that he needed something less romance-oriented at the moment. He didn't tell Kitten that, but he got the feeling she knew anyway. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Kurt dragged himself up to his room to find Blaine and Kitten plopped on the bed, surrounded by numerous food containers and watching TV. He was relieved to see that Blaine had settled down and felt comfortable around his guardian. Kitten could be a right pain in the ass, but she'd proven many times to be a loyal friend and her positive attributes were well worth dealing with her antics. 

"Kurt, hey. You look tired." Blaine popped up the moment Kurt entered the room. He tugged the designer towards the bed, casually pushing Kitten from her place splayed lengthwise across the mattress. 

"I got you a falafel sandwich. Come sit for a minute." To Blaine's surprise, Kurt followed readily and accepted the food with a tired 'thanks.' Blaine recognized this behavior; his owner was finally past the point of exhaustion and passing out was imminent. Blaine hastily escorted Kitten out of the room, promising on the souls of his ancestors that he was in for the night and he'd text her if he planned to so much as step out to get ice. 

Kurt had finished his dinner by the time Kitten could be coerced to vacate, so Blaine helped tug his clothes off and got a set of Kurt's preferred jammie pants on him. Blaine urged the exhausted man into bed and quickly stripped himself down to his boxers before turning off the lights and television and climbing in as well, spooning up behind him and cuddling close.

"You feel okay about tomorrow?" Kurt asked tiredly, idly stroking the arm resting over his chest.

"Yeah. I mean I'm nervous, and a little scared. But mostly about the cat-walk," Blaine admitted.

"Not the after party?"

"Not at all. You sicced Kitten on me, remember? You should've seen that girl back off these two ogres earlier with just an icy look and her shiny reputation."

"That reputation isn't gossip. It's solid," Kurt mumbled. "She's really left a mark in her brief time around here. But, that's good. That she makes you feel safe."

"You make me safe," Blaine told him softly. But Kurt had already succumbed to sleep.

\-----------------------------------------------

Blaine woke with the dawn, his body accustomed to rising around this time to exercise. He glanced down with a contented sigh. Kurt was curled tight against his chest, his hair a wild mess, and he was snoring faintly. He was perfect. 

Another time, another place...who was he kidding? Another world. Blaine's life had been destined to be miserable and brief since the day he'd been taken away and branded. Blaine had made his peace with that, in a way. Scrounging for enough food to survive had kept his mind off...well, anything else, really. He hadn't had the energy for what ifs and might've beens. Now though, he had only to look beside him to see everything he had lost. The attraction wasn't just gratitude for pulling him out of the hell hole he'd been trapped in and saving his life. Blaine had considered that possibility. No, it was far more than that. From day one Kurt had treated Blaine like a person, like his needs and wants mattered, like he mattered. 

Transitioning out of the role of a slave, putting himself out there, had been terrifying and a struggle. Living with Kurt and his crazy clan, even those who would've kept Blaine in his place given their preference, was completely unlike anything he'd even considered a possibility. But it had happened, and he had changed. Now Blaine thought like a person again. He wanted...things he shouldn't want and definitely couldn't have.

Blaine could never forget that he was a slave, and outside of Kurt's carefully managed little world, he was still property. When he was out into the world it was automatic for him to behave appropriately for his station in society. But sometimes, around Kurt, he got lost in the pretending, when the what-if's didn't seem quite so out of reach. 

He reached out and stroked Kurt's cheek with a feather-light touch. It wasn't gratitude. Blaine knew all of Kurt's quirks, the good and bad. He knew his sunny smile and beautiful laugh, his stubborn obsessiveness, and tendency to get wrapped up in himself to the exclusion of all else. Blaine had witnessed his charms and his flaws. And he loved it all. 

But even if Blaine was willing to try a relationship, despite the imbalance in their status, it still wasn't an option. Kurt had dismissed that possibility when he'd told Blaine there would never be sex between them. Blaine hadn't believed him at first, then, when he realized Kurt meant it, he'd been relieved. Now all he felt was regret. 

The phone alarm blared to life, triggering an instant reaction to Kurt's sleeping form. Instead of burrowing deep like he normally would, Kurt bolted upright, eyes wide. Looking at the bedside clock, Kurt started cursing and untangling himself from the covers.

"Good morning," Blaine said, sitting up and watching curiously. Kurt was halfway across the room before he spun back, smiled and placed a quick kiss to Blaine's cheek and he was off again. 

"Hey, you. Okay, ten thousand things need to happen. I need to be downstairs. Quinn's half jacket for her third change needs a new button, the pocket square on Sam's evening wear suit is horrible, I've no idea what I was thinking. Blaine, did we ever find your left shoe for that dark blue outfit with the matching bow tie?" 

"Yes, we did. I packed it myself." Blaine was watching the scene with a sense of bemused affection as Kurt went right back into the state he'd been in the previous evening like a switch had been flipped.

Kurt was diving through Blaine's suitcase muttering to himself. Kurt's own outfit was sitting on a hook in the closet and Blaine personally thought Kurt looked good enough in to model himself.

"Thank you, sweetie," Kurt responded absently. "Make sure you get some breakfast, will you? Call is at 1130 down at my changing rooms. Please please please don't be late and don't go anywhere without Hailey." Kurt closed the bathroom door to shower.

A knock on the door prompted Blaine to get out of bed himself. He looked down at his state of undress in chagrin. Oh, well. Blaine grabbed his collar off the nightstand, clicking it in place as he walked towards the door and tying his robe on. Kitten breezed in the instant he cracked the door. 

"Blaine, hiya! Hurry up and change so we can pound some pavement. There's this great nature trail just a half mile away." Blaine considered attempting to decline, then glanced at the closed bathroom ruefully. Maybe a run would be good for him. Blaine needed to clear his head, and he was quite sure Kitten could keep him sufficiently distracted from other thoughts.

She handed him a coffee as she strode by, trotting to the bathroom to yell in to Kurt that she was stealing Blaine and there was a Skinny Latte for him on the desk. 

\---------------------------------------------------

A grueling two hours later, Blaine dragged himself back to the room. A distraction was one thing, but being run until he was half dead had not been what he'd had in mind. There was a large playground along the trail and Kitten had decided they should do some exercise drills on it. Blaine's arms felt like spaghetti. He'd honestly felt he was in pretty decent shape, but he had nothing on the hyper-psycho ball of caffeine that was his running partner. She had looked as fresh and alert when she dropped him off back at his room as she had when she'd picked him up. 

With a groan, he limped to the bathroom, hoping he'd drown in the water and end the pain. While filling the tub, Blaine checked his phone, finding several messages from Kurt. Unsurprisingly, they mostly revolved around his check-in time and making sure he ate. A few asked him to bring some things from the room with him. He texted back that Kitten had tried to kill him, he'd eat after his shower, and he'd bring everything Kurt had asked for with him.

Blaine finished showering and dressed in the semi-casual clothes Kurt had chosen for him. Pretty much every time he set foot outside the room he was to be dressed in a Hummel Designs Original. Blaine thought that if Kurt had tried a hand at athletic wear he'd have brandished the KH logo through the muddy hell he'd be subjected to that morning. 

Blaine's phone dinged. Great. Blaine poked his head out the door to find Kitten leaning against the wall in the hallway, messing with her phone. 

"Wow, you look a lot better without all that mud. Ready to head out?" She asked brightly. Blaine gave her a baleful glare, ignoring her laughter. 

"Don't take this wrong, Kitten. But I kind of hate you right now." 

She grinned. "It's not my fault. I couldn't help myself. Your arm muscles just looked so hot when you swung on the monkey bars..."

Blaine refused to comment on the grueling exercises that had ultimately resulted in him falling into a surprisingly deep puddle of mud when his arms had finally given out. Kitten had been swinging right along with him the whole time, chatting like she was having a morning stroll and not swinging six feet in the air. And she'd hung there, laughing while Blaine sat in the mud, sputtering and spitting out dirt.

"Where are we going, anyway?" He asked, following Kitten into the elevator. They had some time yet before he was due to meet with Kurt.

"We are going to meander, my dear. You saw the place yesterday, this morning you get to see the people. And hopefully you'll still be in one piece when I deliver you to Kurt's room for styling, make up, and dress."

The hotel was much more crowded than the previous evening. Kitten got a good hold of his arm and skillfully guided them the packed corridors to the large Grand Ballroom. The catwalk swarmed with techs, adjusting lights, working on sound and doing important-looking things with hammers. Models roamed about in various stages of dress, harried designers walked with deliberate casualness, while assistants scurried frantically every which way. Everyone wore a laminated name-tag with their name, designer group, and position listed and color coded. 

And then there were the slaves. While the hotel had none specifically for pleasure, to Blaine's relief, they had a number of workers who served as a jack-of-all-trade pool of steady labor. They efficiently ran about in black jeans and polo shirts wearing sturdy, neon green collars emblazoned with the hotel logo. Blaine automatically stroked his own collar, the touch soothing as always. 

Several assistants led beautiful men and women on leashes, clearly the slave models for the show. Blaine saw a pair of lovely identical-appearing boys tethered off to the side, sitting and talking quietly with each other. They looked so young. Blaine hadn't realized children were a part of the show. Kitten saw where he was staring and tugged him against a wall, out of the way of traffic. 

"The twins belong to Beltane Styles. They've been at every show I've ever been to," she told him softly.

"But didn't you say you've been doing this with Kurt for 3 years? How old are they?"

"They're 19, I think, or 20."

"Really? But they look almost pre-pubescent..." Blaine cut off. Oh.

"That was the general idea, I believe. They do well enough for the Walk, but the designer generally only uses them once. Mainly, they're for the after-show. And they make their owner serious bank, let me tell you. I guess the lack of testicles isn't much of a turn off." Blaine knew it happened, but that didn't make it any less horrifying. He knew that models often had plastic surgery but it really bothered him to see work had clearly been done on many of the slaves, who would have no say whether or not they wanted to be cut on. 

Kitten guided him away from the main rooms down a wide hallway towards the designer's rooms. Blaine saw that most corners along the halls had rounded metal loops along the wall about 5 feet up. He shivered, knowing what they were for and hating it. As they walked by the registration room, a tall sandy haired slave was shoved face-up against the wall by his handler, hands efficiently zip tied behind him. A leash was snapped onto his collar, the other end affixed to a wall loop with about a foot of slack. As soon as the handler left, the slave rolled around to lean casually against the wall, watching the world go by with a bored expression. 

Seeing that Kitten was looking at her phone, Blaine wandered over to lean against the wall next to the guy. "Can you talk?" he asked quietly.

"Well, I was going to go for a coffee, but since you're sex on a stick..." the slave drawled, eyeing Blaine's body suggestively. 

Blaine wanted to fold his arms over his chest defensively but kept them at his side rather than rub it in that he was unfettered while the other man was slave-locked. 

"So, what did you want to chat about, new meat?" The slave asked casually.

"I don't know, really. Anything? You just look really experienced with this and as you guessed this is my first show. Whatever you can tell me, I'd appreciate," Blaine replied earnestly.

"Make sure you carry plenty of lube with you for the after-show," the slave offered, smiling darkly. "And I hope you can handle getting reamed hourly by overbearing, entitled, rich men. Though with those big doe-eyes of yours, you might score a few women. They like their boys innocent looking. Incidentally, have you met the twins, yet?" He asked with a sly smile. "They might have some valuable insight to offer. Not that they have much else, mind you." He laughed brightly, his cheery tone at odds with the malicious words.

Suddenly the slave was dangling, choking on his tie when he lost his footing. Blaine hastily lunged forward, helping him back to his feet while the others slave wheezed. "Hello and fuck you," he spluttered at the figure across from him as he coughed, eyes red with tears he couldn't wipe away. 

"Hello, Seb," Kitten replied darkly. "Remind me, didn't we discuss what would happen to you if you ever spoke to me or mine again?" 

"I'm terribly sorry, Catwoman. I didn't see your name anywhere on him," Seb sneered at Kitten, clearly familiar with her. "I assure you, I'dve been a proper gentleman if I'd had an inkling." 

She sighed. "Blaine, this is Sebastian. Asshole, this is Blaine. Seb, Blaine is with me. Now you know. Never look at him again." 

"Is there a reason you kicked his feet out from under him when he's in slave-lock?" Blaine asked, trying and failing to hide his anger. 

"Did I mention the part about him being an asshole? You have enough to deal with without him whispering his poison in your ear." Sebastian smiled innocently, winking when Blaine met his eyes again. 

Kitten didn't miss the exchange. She smiled sweetly at Sebastian, who paled and pushed himself further against the wall, futilely trying to get some distance between them. "Let me tell you a story about your new friend, Blainy. When I met Sebastian, he'd gotten himself into some real hot water. He and another slave, what was that boy's name?"

"Nicholas," Sebastian replied, managing to sound bored. 

"That was it. Anyway, Seb and Nick were being considered for private purchase by a big time designer. It meant getting away from these smaller events, better living conditions and less of the after-show issues. The catch was that she hadn't decided which of them she wanted yet. They both belonged to the same owner at the time and Sebastian here decided to hedge his bet a bit. He threw a drink into the other slave's face while they were exercising together." She turned to back to Sebastian. "What was in that drink again?"

"Rock salt," Sebastian replied airily. "What can I say, it seemed like a good idea at the time?"

"Well, his brilliant, masterfully executed scheme backfired because he was caught and the big designer decided she didn't want a troublemaker. So he doesn't get to play any reindeer games anymore. He's kept isolated and guarded. That's why his co-workers are in an outdoor pen getting some fresh air and chatting while Seb is stuck in here keeping the wall from falling."

"Someone's got to do it," Sebastian commented idly. His eyes were closed, head tilted back against the wall. 

Kitten considered the slave for a minute. "Are you wired, Seb?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Naturally," he told her without opening his eyes.

"Okay. Blaine, come look. Many of the slaves are fitted with these and you should be aware of them." Kitten lifted Sebastian's shirt, revealing several silver dollar sized tan foam patches on his toned chest. He had one stuck to either nipple and four more lining his abdomen. They were thin enough not to obviously show through the tight shirt and had what looked like wires embedded in the foam. After giving Blaine a moment to look them over, Kitten slid Sebastian's shirt back into place. "He'll also have them glued on either leg around his lower inner thigh," she told him, tapping Sebastian's femoral area on either leg. Sebastian kept still throughout, accepting the handling without protest. 

"What are those?" Blaine asked, certain that he wasn't going to like her answer.

"What happened to you when you disobeyed or screwed up back at the hotel?" Kitten asked.

"Um, we were whipped." 

"Right. Well, you can't whip a model. Or hit them. Or burn them. Nothing that has the potential to be physically traumatic or defacing. So to keep this lot in line they've had to develop other methods to ensure obedience. A few owners choose to use these. They're electrical pads, linked to wireless remotes. You can even download an App to your smart phone and set it to their specific frequency. Press the button and they deliver a pretty significant shock. Of course, they can only hold so much of a charge so you get limited uses before you need to change them. For full punishment, they can actually be attached to external wires so they can deliver a stronger or sustained jolt. But that generally only happens in private when their handlers can get them naked so they don't soil the clothes if they pass out."

Blaine swallowed, imagining electric shocks in such sensitive places. Sebastian opened his eyes, meeting Blaine's wide stare. "Generally, you'll see them put us on our knees first. A good jolt can knock you to the ground and they can't risk us getting bruises anywhere obvious. Just look for a kneeling slave begging or crying, can't miss it." He grinned sardonically. "There's no business like show business." 

Kitten tugged Blaine away from Sebastian and down the hall. He allowed himself to be guided, his eyes locked to the ground. '"I just wanted you to know about those things and Seb makes a good example," Kitten explained as they walked. "I'm sorry about him. He's damaged and jaded all to hell, but unlike most here, he brought a lot of that on himself." 

Blaine didn't answer. He was accustomed to slaves being used and discarded, but this was a different kind of awful. He clung to Kitten's arm, glancing around periodically, only to drop his gaze back to the ground. 

Kitten guided Blaine down a yet another busy hallway and knocked perfunctorily on a door before going in. Racks of familiar clothes filled the room and Kurt was sitting on a bench seat, intently sewing a button onto a vest. 

Blaine took one look at the familiar figure and finally lost control of himself. He rushed in and slid to his knees in front of Kurt, clutching him around the waist. "Thank you, Master. Thank you, thank you," Blaine muttered thickly into Kurt's shirt. 

"What the hell happened?" Kurt demanded. He dropped the vest, his arms encircling Blaine's body protectively. Blaine buried himself further, sighing into the embrace. "Hailey? He was fine this morning."

"Life." Kitten told him succinctly. "I'm going to go wander a bit, see if anyone has alcohol this early. You've got him for now, yes?" 

"Yeah, just be back before they start the show at 6, please."

"Will do. Text me if you want me sooner." She closed the door softly behind her.

"Blaine, Sweetie? Are you with me?" Kurt asked the man in his arms, not caring that he was sniffling into his shirt. 

Blaine nodded, reluctantly letting go and sitting back on his heels. Kurt sighed. "I shouldn't have brought you into this. I knew it was gonna be rough but I figured given your background you'd be braced." 

"I am. I just..this is a different type of use then I'm accustomed to. I don't think it's any less or more horrible. It's just our handling at the hotel was fairly straightforward. They get a little more...creative here than I'm used to." Blaine sighed. "And yes, you should have brought me. I can handle it. I think Kitten just wanted me to see the worst of it at once, like pulling off a band-aid. I'm kind of glad she did, actually. Now I can anticipate and deal."

Kurt watched him with concern filled eyes. "If you want to bow out, you can. I don't give a hell about this. You can be a step away from the catwalk and turn right around and hop back off."

Blaine sat next to Kurt, hugging him. "You really are amazing. And yes, you do give a hell. What would Rachel do on the paired walk if I'm not there?"

Kurt snorted. "If anyone can rock a duo act by herself, it's Rachel." He hesitated a second. "Do you know what you were thanking me for when you came in?"

"What? That? Oh, umm, well. I think it was for just...being you. For not doing any of the things I saw, and despite what you're going to say, yes, you absolutely could. You take such amazing care of me. So, I guess that was it. I wasn't really thinking all that clearly." 

Kurt's eyes dropped. "You're welcome, I suppose. And I get what you mean. But if you think I'm physically or mentally capable of doing any of that shit to anyone, then you don't really know me at all." 

Clearly hurt, Kurt stood to walk away. Before he could take a step Blaine was on him, holding tight. "I don't, Kurt. Not even for a minute. I'm sorry I said it like that." 

Kurt sniffed against Blaine's shoulder. He'd never been one to hold back the waterworks. "Mostly, things here aren't that bad. And less then a quarter of the models are slaves, anyway. Most designers don't think they can achieve the right attitude for the catwalk," Kurt explained.

"Well, I saw the twins. And I met Sebastian."

"Ouch. That girl doesn't pull her punches. Sebastian is still here? Wow, that meerkat just lingers on." Relaxing his stiff posture, Kurt gently disengaged from Blaine and returned to organizing for the show. He scooped up the vest he'd been working on and set it on a hanger. The button was fine.

Blaine sat on a sofa, content to watch Kurt work. He certainly had no desire to set foot out of the room again until he absolutely had to. "So, you know Sebastian's story?"

"Everyone does. It was all the rage for ages. Like we don't have enough drama." Kurt snorted. "Unfortunately for him, it's probably why he's still here. His very presence still creates some buzz. But any attention sent his direction is unlikely to be comfortable."

Blaine nodded. He grabbed a coke from the ice filled bin on the table. "The um, the model Sebastian blinded. Do you know what became of him, by any chance?" 

"Actually, yes. I do. Please don't go around sharing this; it's not common knowledge and I don't want to reignite old gossip. And that includes ninja felines," Kurt told him. Blaine grinned at that. 

Despite her obnoxious methods, Blaine very much liked Kitten. She didn't sugar coat anything and treated him like everyone else he'd seen her interact with; a rough affection flavored heavily with sarcasm. It was actually refreshing. He adored Kurt, and loved him with a vengeance, but Kurt sometimes treated him a little too gently, like he was damaged. Admittedly, he was, but that didn't mean he needed kid gloves all the time. 

"So, you want to know about Nicholas. I ran into him a year or so ago at a smaller show with his current owner, Jeff. Jeff had been one of the assistants to a now-defunct clothing line during that whole fiasco. Jeff changed careers; he's a florist now, if I recall. Anyway, they came to see the show. Both seemed relaxed. I talked to Nicholas for a bit while Jeff was occupied. He never did get sight back in one of his eyes. It would've needed surgery to correct and his original owner had been unwilling to put the money into him. Jeff would've, I think, but by the time he actually took possession of him the damage was permanent. Nicholas told me it didn't make too much of a difference and Jeff loved it when he wore his eye patch." Kurt smiled fondly at the memory. The slave had seemed well cared for and happy.

Blaine was gratified to hear that at least something positive had come out of that situation. He felt bad for Sebastian, despite the man's nasty demeanor and previous actions. He thought about the way Kurt described the two men, master and slave, content together. It made Blaine question his beliefs about certain impossibilities.  
.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the big one. One more chapter and an epilogue to go.

Blaine lightly dozed on the couch, content to listen to whatever Kurt had playing on his Ipod while the designer muttered under his breath as he worked. The sounds were familiar and soothing, calming Blaine’s nerves after his difficult morning. 

A short while later Sam and Quinn made their appearance, chatting animatedly about something or other. Blaine wasn't really paying attention. Rachel breezed in just after their arrival and immediately began regaling everyone with tales from her latest rehearsal. Blaine sat in his corner of the couch, watching the animated discussions with a quiet interest. 

The easy chatter was interrupted by a polite knock at the door. A bespeckled, smiling face poked its way in without waiting to be asked. "Knock Knock," he called cheerfully. 

“Crum nnn.” Kurt called as best he around a mouth full of pins.  
The door swung all the way open, admitting the young man who’d stuck his head in a moment before. A large hulk of a man followed close behind, laden with a collection of boxes in his arms. 

"Chandler!" Rachel squeaked, popping up to hug the new arrival.

Kurt set the fabric he’d been working on down and rose to greet the pair, hugging them both in turn. He spent a long minute looking up into the smiling eyes of the bigger man. "How are you doing, David?" 

"Oh, you know me. I'm fabulous," the man responded, winking at Kurt. 

"Of course he is, he's with me," Chandler told Kurt impishly. "And yes, now would be the appropriate time to congratulate me." The guy radiated nerd-chic to Blaine, who found him interesting but didn't love how familiar he and Kurt seemed. 

"Why are we congratulating you, again?" Kurt asked in amusement.

"Duh, because of my new jewelry, obviously!" Chandler help up his left hand, the gold band shining prominently against his splayed fingers.

"Dave!" Sam demanded. "You didn't?!" He grinned, dragging himself up from the couch to offer a fist-bump. Smirking, the big man responded heartily to the gesture.

"I'm texting Finn right now, just so you know," Kurt told them as his nimble fingers danced along the phone's keypad. "He's going to be so mad you didn't tell him first." 

Chandler accepted the congratulations before cracking his knuckles dramatically. "Okay, okay. Now that the joy is out, let's get going. My understanding is that I have four lovely people that I need to make stunning." Chandler put actions to words and began setting up his kit. Dave assisted, the motions smooth and practiced. 

Blaine kept silent and still on the couch, uncertain of his place with these new people. From listening to everyone’s conversations, he learned that Chandler usually did hair and make up for travelling theater productions. He was between shows at the moment so had signed up for the show for a little extra cash. His fiancé David wrote sports articles for a number of online magazines. The work didn’t pay a whole lot, but Dave loved it and it allowed him to travel with his partner. Chandler had just signed on to tour with a Cats revival, and he and Rachel chatted incessantly about the opportunity. 

Finn arrived a short while later, congratulating Dave and plopping down on a wide armchair to hang out with his friends. Blaine typically loved it when the household got rambunctious this way, telling stories about old times and teasing one another other. He didn't say much, but he didn't feel excluded, either. He was happy to stay in the background, particularly with the new people around. Plus, he was a little intimidated by David. The man was even larger than Finn, and Blaine couldn't get a good reading on how he was expected to act around him.

Then it was his turn for make up and Blaine couldn’t hide anymore. "You're up, my beauty. Come to Mama," Chandler cooed to Blaine, patting the chair.  
He obediently rose and went to Chandler's work chair, sitting as ordered. There was definitely history between Chandler, Dave and Kurt. Blaine had figured that much out during his observations. But he’d decided to wait and ask Kurt about that dynamic another time, when they were alone. 

Chandler's fingers wove expertly through Blaine's hair as he gave him a final trim, then started working on his makeup. Blaine was ordered to unbutton and remove his shirt so that Chandler could apply concealer to the slave designation numbers branded on his lower neck, between the shoulder blades. Rachel and Quinn were already finished, and Sam preferred to do his own touch-ups after his hair had been styled, so Blaine was the only one Chandler had left to work with. 

"Good boy, holding still so well," he told the slave with a warm smile. He patted Blaine gently on the shoulder in approval. "You be good for my favorite X now, beautiful" Chandler murmured in Blaine's ear as he artfully smoothed makeup over the marks on his back. "He deserves the best."  
In a louder voice Chandler announced that his work was done. Before Blaine could begin to think about what he'd just heard, he was being called over to Kurt's station.

Then Blaine was dressed in his first outfit. And it was show time.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Blaine peeked out from the curtain, taking in the loud room packed full of lights, sound, and people. So many people. He’d known it would be crazy, but this was like nothing he’d imagined. There was absolutely no way he could do this.

Sam stood beside him, waiting for the emcee to announce Kurt Hummel Designs. The crowd lit up at the name, louder than Blaine had heard previously. He hadn't realized that Kurt's work was so popular. Sam was first up, winking at Blaine before stepping out into the melee. Blaine watched his friend deliberately pause, strike a dynamic pose for the cameras, and then he was off. 

Blaine usually loved watching Sam work, but right now he was too nervous to do anything but try not to vomit. All those people would be staring at him soon. How many would look past the clothes, envisioning him without them, anticipating having him that way later? 

More than anything, Blaine didn't want to disappoint Kurt. But he was frozen in place, the first hints of a panic attack clawing at the back of his throat. Kurt was standing behind him and quickly noticed Blaine’s nerves. He began rubbing the slave’s shoulders soothingly. 

"You've got this. It's the same as you've done in the back yard a thousand times." Kurt reached up to unclasp the collar from Blaine’s throat. Blaine had known he couldn't go on with it, but he still felt so very exposed. There were just so many people...he couldn't do it. They would hurt him, all those hands...Blaine practically felt them along his body. It was all he could do not to start frantically tugging at his form-fitting clothes, trying to slap those unwelcome touches away.

"They're going to hurt me, Kurt,” Blaine whimpered. “They can do whatever they want and there's nothing I can do to stop it. What do I do?" He pleaded with Kurt for an answer, for bravery, anything that would help him do what he needed to. He could feel the stress building and knew if he didn't calm down the panic attack would overwhelm his control. 

"Oh, Sweetie. Calm down, deep breaths,” Kurt ordered urgently. He swung around so that he stood between Blaine and the curtain. Kurt reached up, gently holding Blaine’s face in his hands. “They can look all they want. They should look. You're the most stunning person here. But no one gets you, I swear it. They can't touch you, I won't let them.” Blaine took a shuddering gasp, focusing on Kurt’s touch, letting his words wash over his trembling body.

“You can do this," Kurt murmured Blaine’s his ear, holding him as close as he could without messing up the outfit. "Close your eyes, deep breaths. Find that inner courage I've seen in you.” Slowly, Blaine calmed, finding strength in Kurt’s conviction.

“You’ve got this, Sweetie. But if you get scared once you’re out there, just look stage right off to the side of the walkway." After a few more cleansing deep breaths, Blaine once again peered out of the curtain, looking where Kurt had indicated. Kitten had climbed up on the trellis of some of the lighting equipment. Her eyes were bright when she met his, and she grinned, her expression challenging, daring him on. 

Blaine turned back to look into Kurt's warm gaze, so confident in Blaine's ability to handle this. It all came back to Kurt. He’d brought Blaine from the brink so many times, saved his life, his mind. Kurt had given him a home and shared his family and life. And when faced with a million loud, scary people, Kurt had found Blaine a tiger to guard him. 

Blaine glanced at himself in one the many mirrors. He had to admit it; he looked amazing. He wore an outfit Kurt's creative and brilliant mind had designed to make him gorgeous. Those people out there should see it; should see how amazing Blaine's Kurt was. And he was going to show them. Hearing the description of his wardrobe spoken over the music, Blaine stepped out onto the stage and struck his carefully rehearsed pose. All those eyes turned to him. Well, good. That was as it should be. 

Blaine smiled seductively, and then he walked.  
\-------------------------------------------------

"Fucking phenomenal!" Sam yelled at him above the din, walking next to Blaine as they made their way through the crowd and back into the safety of the Hummel Designs room. Blaine shut the door firmly behind him, reveling in the quiet space. The rest of the KH team was already there, as Blaine had the last walk of the set. Sam had waited in the wings to escort him back.

"Blaine, you're a natural!" Rachel told him, hugging him happily. 

"Really, dude. You got that stage rocking so hard they're gonna need to give out Dramamine," Finn agreed. 

Quinn looked briefly confused at Finn before shrugging. "You truly were amazing Blaine. My star pupil." 

Blaine accepted the congratulatory arm squeezes, pats, and hugs from the small group of people whom he’d learned to handle such touches from without fear. The welcome warmed Blaine's already flushed body. He really had been awesome, he knew. And if the cheers were anything to go by, they crowd thought so as well. 

Kitten had clapped and hooted at him as he walked by, clearly delighted by his act. It was a distraction he desperately needed when things would get too intense. He could glance at the crazy girl and do his poses just for her. Perched where she was, it still looked like he was eyeing the crowd. Blaine was quite sure that the placement hadn’t been accidental.

Despite the exuberant congratulations, Blaine only had eyes for one man. He desperately needed to know what Kurt thought. Had he made the perfectionist proud of him? Blaine so badly wanted him to be. 

Blaine turned in a circle, nearly bumping into his target when Kurt appeared at his side. Kurt's eyes locked on his for just a second and then Blaine was swept into the only arms he needed. Kurt's personal scent filled his nostrils and Blaine clung desperately to his owner. 

"Was it okay? Did I do good?" He whispered urgently. 

"Good? God, Blaine, you were perfect!" Kurt exclaimed, holding Blaine tight.

And he could breathe again.  
\---------------------------------

Blaine had changed clothes yet again and was now meandering through a particularly pretentious evening party. One of the event’s very few redeeming values was that it was held in an exquisitely decorated outdoor courtyard. Tastefully arranged florals were strewn across columns and silky white tablecloths, while a multitude of golden tea-lights bathed the courtyard in a soft light.

Blaine watched the sea of beautiful people mingle, absently stroking his collar. He'd snapped it back into place the minute he'd gotten off stage for the last time, grateful beyond words that Sam had had the forethought to have it with him. The relief of feeling it against his skin again bordered on incandescent. 

Currently, Blaine was dressed in an expertly tailored dark green suit with matching bowtie, the fabric of his raw silk shirt a rich shade of gold. For all that it was an unlikely pairing, it looked really nice with his skin tone and matched his eyes perfectly. Kurt's exact words were 'he was wearing the hell out of it'. Blaine wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it sounded good so he went with it. Kitten paced by his side, her eyes darting over the assembly, daring anyone to get too close. 

The general announcements and awards had taken up the first part of the evening. Kurt's name featured prominently. His designs had won several awards and he'd officially been declared 'Mr. Up-And-Coming,' which apparently made him the belle of the ball. Blaine was thrilled for his owner. He couldn't help but keep an eye on the beaming designer, noticing that Kurt tried numerous times to join him only to be repeatedly pulled away. Blaine had smiled at him and shrugged, eventually texting him that he was fine and Kurt should use this important time to network.

Rachel breezed by, looking resplendent on Finn's arm in the same forest green adorning Blaine, her outfit an elegantly cut, spaghetti-strap dress that Blaine had adored since he'd seen the sketch in Kurt's notebook. Her long, dark curls beautifully accented the rich color. She held tight to Finn, chatting animatedly about how many guests had told her they were looking forward to her upcoming performance. 

Finn was looked striking in a KH tuxedo, though it was clear that he was having difficulty taking his eyes off his verbose companion. Finn had explained to Blaine a while ago that he always acted as escort for Rachel when she worked shows for Kurt, though he hadn’t admitted to allowing Kurt to dress him for the part. Blaine regarded the pair fondly, privately wondering why Kurt had bothered getting them separate rooms given the obvious heat between the two. 

Sam and Quinn stopped by briefly to say hello and politely complimented Blaine on the suit he wore. They had several friends in attendance, Quinn explained, so unfortunately they couldn't stay and chat. The frosty glare she'd fixed on Kitten might have had something do with her sudden need be elsewhere. 

Kitten smiled innocently back and hooked an arm through Blaine's. Sam missed the interchange entirely, busy flagging down a server carrying a tray of drinks, but left readily enough when Quinn tugged at his arm. Kitten sighed, muttering something about stamina in a regretful tone as both she and Blaine watched Sam walk away. She visibly perked up when Blaine reminded her that Puck was supposed to be taking her out to a midnight movie later.

Inquiries about Blaine's availability and ticket price had begun the moment he walked out onto the floor. Apparently he'd been earmarked as a favorite. Kitten politely told the interested parties that Blaine was unavailable. The first time. If they persisted, she told them to fuck off. A number of guests kept personal assistants or guards, but none of the hired security seemed even a little interested in confronting the infamous Irish lass. 

Blaine fought hard to suppress any sign of his gut-churning relief as offer after offer was swiftly rejected, regardless of the staggering prices mentioned. He'd believed with everything in his being that Kurt wouldn't sell him for sex. But...yeah, but. 

Blaine was too jaded, had been used too harshly to completely ignore the tiny voice in his head that insisted Kurt was just like the rest, and when the money flowed his true colors would show. Had that happened, Blaine would have gone quietly where directed and served to the best of his considerable ability while everything left of him shriveled and died. 

An hour later the suit he wore was spoken for, as were half a dozen like it, and he remained molestation-free. Sam had returned to hang out with them for a while, claiming that Quinn had joined up with some acquaintances of hers whom he couldn't stand. 

Of course, the company wasn’t the only thing that had sent Sam their way. While he'd been walking stag, a girl had taken to creeping on him and he’d come seeking Kitten's particular brand of protection to back the rich brat off. Kitten gleefully rose to the occasion, using her second most terrifying skill set: words. By the time Kitten had finished with the young lady, from her makeup, her clothes, her hair, and god-help-us, her shoes, the girl had run away in tears. Blaine thought he should feel bad about how much he'd enjoyed the verbal beat down, but he didn't. She needed to know that ‘no’ actually meant no.

A hand grabbed Blaine's ass out of nowhere, goosing him painfully. As quickly as he felt it, the grip was gone and a furious Kitten was whispering something to the lady whose arm she was bending behind the woman's back, looking very close to breaking it. After a few, harshly whispered words, Blaine’s guardian released the woman. Kitten watched her go, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Please Hailey, relax. It was just a quick grope. I'm fine," Blaine pacified. Kitten reluctantly backed down, though she told him the next person to touch without permission was getting something broken. As it turned out, she wasn't kidding. 

The son of one of the designers had taken a shining to Blaine. The young man had adamantly argued with Kitten, alluding to the enormous amount of money he was prepared to offer. Blaine’s jaw dropped when he heard the staggering figure so casually dropped. Kitten didn't seem nearly as impressed. After one polite 'no', then her not so polite 'fuck off', she was done with the guy and told him so. 

While another client asked Kitten a question, the man ducked around her and grabbed Blaine by his collar, yanking the slave along with him as he swiftly strode away. Caught by surprise, Blaine jerked back, falling to the ground when the trick-catch on the collar’s clasp snapped. Kitten grabbed the man and Blaine heard the faint crack that preceded the howl. Clutching several broken digits, the man ducked away. 

Blaine accepted Kitten's assistance back to his feet, willing his body to stop shaking. "So, yeah, that was violent," he commented once he'd managed to settle down a bit. Kitten shrugged, not excusing her behavior or seeming concerned about repercussions. 

"That arrogant brat won't tell daddy or his friends that a five foot tall little girl got the best of him,” she explained dismissively. “His ego would never abide it." 

Once he could breathe normally again, Blaine looked to make sure Kurt hadn't seen the exchange, not wanting him to be upset. Thankfully, the designer was nowhere to be seen and Blaine found his collar where it had landed a few feet away. 

Kitten eyed the leather strap as Blaine scooped it off the ground. "I can try to rig that for you, if you want. Though I'm surprised anything Kurt made would break so easily."

"It didn't." Blaine snapped the buckle neatly back into place. "It has a break- away clasp." 

"Now that's something," Kitten said in approval. "There's even a D-ring set in as a decoy. Very cool. Did you and Kurt design it together?"

"Nope. This specific collar was a surprise gift, though I did ask for one. When I asked him about it, Kurt told me he'd noticed a slave hanging around outside a restaurant waiting for her owner when he was out buying leatherwork needles. He said that he traded her baked goods to talk with him about what a slave would consider ideal." Kitten laughed, applauding Kurt's logic. Who better then a slave to ask what they'd most value in a collar? 

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine watched an older man hand a ticket to a handler guiding a striking raven-haired young woman casually across the room. The handler clipped the short leash he'd been wearing around his waist to the young woman's neck, handing the other end to the patron with a flourish. Without lifting her eyes, the girl obediently followed where she was led. Blaine turned away, hating the scene more and more every time he saw it. 

A short while later he noticed Sebastian being led back to his handler. The slave was limping slightly and when he wasn't observed, Seb shot the man returning him such a fierce look of hate that Blaine was surprised the man didn't burn to ash on the spot. Blaine knew the feeling well. He'd gimped his way down the hallway back to the stable brimming with that same emotion more than once.

Noticing Blaine's discomfort, Kitten began a running dialogue about each designer as they wandered, while adeptly keeping the lascivious at bay. It was ridiculous what she knew about some of the people in attendance. Later, she shared her precious supply of peanut MnM's with him while they amiably criticized clothing designs that weren't Kurt's. Blaine made sure to pose as they moved, always aware of his purpose.

Kitten pointed out a sour-looking designer with some very unfortunate hair extensions. He'd been one of the more high-end names here, Blaine recalled. "That's the guy who paid off Tobias," she told him casually. "He was last year's big name but his creativity must've dried up because this year's designs blow." 

"So, that was a deliberate attempt to screw Kurt up, then?"

Kitten snorted. "Of course it was. They waited until he'd started cutting, but early enough that Tobias' reputation wouldn't get trashed. I don't blame Tobias; he got paid more than he would have otherwise to do nothing. Win-win for him."

"It's obnoxious," Blaine replied, careful to keep his expression pleasant.

"Its politics, sweetie. That's how the game is played. Don't sweat it, Kurt knows how to swim these waters."

Evening turned to night and the festivities finally seemed to be drawing to a close. Blaine casually leaned against a wall, watching the guests make their way out of the courtyard. Now that the party was clearing out he didn't feel duty bound to hover front and center. Most of the people actually interested in the clothing he wore had long since moved on with their evening, leaving a few inebriated guests who mostly wanted tickets. Blaine had taken to politely responding that his time was fully claimed to the few people who got past Kitten's watchful eye.

Kurt stood a little away from the mostly empty dance floor, chatting animatedly with another designer from the show. The young lady seemed more than a little star-struck. Blaine had seen several young designers acting that way around Kurt. From eavesdropping on various conversations throughout the evening, Blaine had discovered that the sudden success of KH Designs was nearly as unique as its creator. Ambitious beginners frequently plagued Kurt for advice, or just to be seen talking with him. Blaine privately thought they were wasting their time. Even though it was his first experience at fashion show, Blaine could clearly see how Kurt's work stood out from the rest.

"So, how was your first after-party," Kitten asked, nudging Blaine's shoulder to get his attention.

"Every bit as horrifying as I'd been warned about," Blaine replied frankly. He was unable to keep his eyes off Kurt, not bothering to hide his longing from his companion. Kitten saw everything anyway, regardless of how well he tried to hide it. It had been creepy at first, but Blaine finally decided that she was omnipotent and found other things to worry about.

“Man of the hour, that one," Kitten commented, following Blaine's gaze. "Word's gotten around that his hot self is single and there's more than a few people with a mind to change that."

Blaine was well aware of that. Kurt had fended off nearly as many advances as Blaine had during the party, albeit with more flair. "Can you blame them? He's successful, ambitious, gorgeous, and that's just the surface stuff." Blaine knew he was also kind, considerate, and had a bitingly witty sense of humor.

Kitten snorted. "I just like watching his cute ass in those pants he somehow greased himself into."

"You're not wrong," Blaine agreed, having spent more than his fair share of time observing the body part in question.

"Well, Tiger. Whatcha going to do about it? Go ask the man out. You know, coffee, tea, me? I've seen the sparks between you two."

"Seriously Kitten. Please drop it. Nothing can ever happen," Blaine muttered. Honestly, even if he wasn't a slave, he wasn't sure he'd be brave enough to make a move. "Kurt has made it clear on multiple occasions that there won't ever be anything like that between us." Kitten raised an eyebrow in question. 

"He said that since he's my owner he could never be sure it was truly consensual and he refused to do anything to might be taking advantage," Blaine explained. Kitten nodded slowly, a considering look on her face. Blaine recognized the expression. It preceded the rare times when his guardian was about to impart a genuinely thoughtful opinion or drop some sage advice. He waited patiently, curious as to her take on the matter. 

"Bullshit." 

Blaine blinked at her, startled. Well, that was succinct. Kitten tugged Blaine around until he was facing her and gave him a serious look. 

"I'm sorry, but that's complete crap. Refusing you solely because you're a slave is the height of hypocrisy. It's no more right than thinking he has the right to you for the same reason.” She sighed. “I get that Kurt means well, and he’s just trying to the right thing. But either way he’s making decisions for you without your consent.” 

Kitten glanced briefly over at Kurt before catching Blaine’s gaze. “From what I’ve seen, Kurt is intent on making you an equal in his life. That's an incredible burden to place on you. I can't even imagine how hard it's been trying to make that transition. You’ve had to overcome some pretty fucking intense conditioning, not to mention the constant pressure to be appropriately submissive in public. You've basically rebuilt yourself to please him, while taking care to maintain whatever behavioral pattern is expected of you for any given situation." Kitten paused to glare at a slightly inebriated pair who came closer than she liked, watching until they moved on to continue. 

"If Kurt's going to ask all that of you, the least he can do is put a little of himself out there, too," she continued. "He's made it clear to me that if you want to take a sexual partner you're welcome to.” She raised an eyebrow and Blaine nodded slowly.

“Yeah, he’s told me that as well. But I don’t want anyone else. I can’t even imagine…” Blaine broke off, rubbing his face in frustration.  
Kitten nodded. “I get it. But if you want him, call him out. I’d say you have more than earned the right." 

Blaine stared at the ground, thinking. Everything Kitten said was true. And privately, he'd thought a few of the same things himself from time to time. If Kurt honestly wasn't interested in Blaine, or didn’t want to pursue a relationship because of the limitations of trying to date a slave, that was more than fair.  
But Blaine thought maybe that wasn’t the case. Kitten certainly seemed to think she saw something between them, and Kurt himself had told Blaine that first night in the hotel that if thing's were different he'd have been interested. 

Blaine thought of warm, sweet way Kurt looked at him and the constant touches, be they deliberate or accidental. Kurt didn't act that way with anyone else. There had to be more to that than simple friendship, right? And Kurt had never once backed down from ensuring Blaine was treated right, no matter where they were. Would the struggle be that much harder if they actually tried being together? 

"You're right," Blaine told Kitten, finally. He regretted it immediately when her trademark evil smirk crossed her face. 

"Well, duh. I always am. And when you wake up tomorrow, totally fucked out and sated, make sure to send pics Kitten's way. Because you and Kurt, just, damn."

Blaine blushed and Kitten laughed merrily. "Well, my work here is done. Go forth young hottie and get ye laid." She gently pushed him out of his corner, swatting him firmly on the butt as he walked away. The glare he sent her direction was met with an unrepentant grin and a shooing motion.

Blaine swallowed nervously as he walked over to the bar. He told the barista his master wanted a glass of white wine, the way he'd seen other slaves pick up drinks for their owners. A full glass was quickly placed in front of him without question.

The woman talking to Kurt finally left and Blaine decided that this was his best chance. Now he just had to move. Really legs, step forward, anytime now would be good. But he stood frozen. There was so much potential for things to go horribly wrong. What if Kurt didn’t want him? What if he became angry at Blaine’s forwardness? He cringed at the thought of upsetting his owner. This was a bad idea.

No. If he was too afraid to even talk about it, then Kurt was right, there was too much imbalance between them, and Blaine had no business trying to initiate anything. If Blaine was sure of anything in the world, it was that Kurt would never deliberately hurt him. The greatest risk he faced was rejection. He could handle that.

Blaine walked over to Kurt, waiting patiently while he checked his phone are replaced the device in a breast pocket. "Can I interest you in a drink?" He kept his tone light, a real smile spreading across his face when Kurt squeaked and jumped away.

"Holy hell, I need to develop some situational awareness. You scared me." Kurt smiled at him, accepting the wine. "Thanks for this. I wanted to have one last glass before we called it a night."

"My pleasure. We're leaving, then?"

"Soon. I don't know about you but I'm so over this night," Kurt answered, shuddering dramatically. Blaine watched a slim, delicate finger glide along the wine glass absently before Kurt took a sip. 

"Oh yeah. More than ready,” Blaine agreed. “I...ah noticed more than a few attractive guys paying special attention to you. Are you meeting anyone later?" Blaine asked, trying to sound casual. Kurt snorted into his wine.

"God, no. The sheer amount of shallow most of these people exude is staggering."

Blaine chuckled weakly at the comment. Well okay, then. Here goes everything. Blaine turned his head and leaned in a little to catch the designer's attention, smiling warmly when Kurt met his eyes curiously. "So, um…would you like to get out of here, may…maybe get a cup of coffee?" He sighed mentally. Smooth, Blaine. Very smooth.

"I never say no to coff...wait, what?" Kurt really looked at him, finally noticing the intensity in the golden eyes steadily regarding him.

"I asked you out, Kurt,” Blaine told him seriously. “Are you interested?"

Kurt sighed, "Blaine, we've discussed this. It wouldn’t be right." Blaine was tempted to stop there, but he swore he saw something like yearning flash in Kurt’s earnest blue gaze. Remembering Kitten’s words, Blaine didn’t back down. 

He straightened his back, standing at his full height. "I see. Kitten was right, then. You don't really want us to be equals. I apologize, Sir, for my inappropriate behavior. Please, punish me for my mistake." Blaine delivered the line challengingly, daring Kurt to call him on it.

"What the hell, Blaine? I don't know what Hailey's been saying to you but..."

"She didn't say anything I haven't already thought about," Blain interrupted, frustrated into finally speaking his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, forgetting about maintaining the careful styling. "You've wanted me to make my own decisions since the day we met. Well, here it is. I like you, a lot. I like how close we are and I'd love for us to be closer. By your own rules, I’m allowed to approach someone I’m interested in. So here I am. If you don’t want me, I understand. But I think you do. I think maybe you want me almost as much as I want you." 

Blaine crowded into Kurt's personal space, squashing the plaintive 'run away' his inner voice was screaming. Kurt didn't look mad, he looked startled, maybe even afraid, his beautiful eyes wide with a deer-in-the-headlights-stare. 

"Tell me you want me, Kurt." Blaine murmured, gentling his tone. "Tell me I'm right about this, that I’m…that we’re worth it."

"You're wrong," Kurt told him softly. 

Blaine dropped his eyes, defeated. Now that it was all out there, Blaine found that he wasn't worried about any punishment from speaking his mind. Kurt wouldn't hurt him. But the emotional pain that blossomed in his chest was unexpected, burning like a lash. 

So, this was what rejection felt like. Blaine almost preferred the whip. He opened his mouth to tell Kurt he understood, to promise that he wouldn't try to make a move on him again. Kurt placed a hand delicately under Blaine's chin, lifting his face to meet his eyes.

Blaine's word's died unsaid. Kurt's bright glasz eyes radiated joy, and more than a little heat. Suddenly Blaine was burning for whole different reasons than embarrassment or rejection.

"Please, let me finish. You're wrong, because there's no possible way you can want me even half as much as I want you," Kurt told him, his voice low, seductive, and so ridiculously happy. "But you are right about all the rest of it. I was being unfair." His expression broke into dazzling smile. "Yes, Blaine. I would love to get coffee with you."

Blaine beamed back as relief, joy, some fear, but mostly happiness rolled through him. "So, umm, before we leave...may I have this dance?" He'd longed to ask Kurt all night, watching his lithe form gracefully sway with partner after partner. 

"Yes, yes you may," Kurt agreed with a blinding smile, taking Blaine's proffered arm in his own and allowing himself to be led to the dance floor. Kurt folded himself around Blaine and let the slave guide them in swaying circles. 

"I've wanted this for so long," Kurt whispered, almost too low for Blaine to hear. "Sometimes I wanted it so badly it was physically painful, keeping everything inside, holding you in my arms night after night, knowing it could never be more than that." Blaine let the words flow through him, burning away any residual doubt.

"I wanted to be with you, too," Blaine replied softly. “But I was so scared. And after you told me 'no' so many times, I just...I just couldn't take the chance." 

Kurt pulled back a little to look at him as they swayed. "Not...of me, right? Blaine, please tell me you aren't scared of me?"

"No, no, of course not. Well, maybe a little. But not like, I'm afraid that you'd hurt me or anything, at least not physically. You're the first person I've ever wanted romantically, and the thought of putting myself out there and finding out that you weren't really interested, that I'd made it all up in my head, or that being with someone like me was too much work and I wasn’t worth it, that's what terrified me."

Kurt sighed, pressing close again and settling back into Blaine's arms. "Good. I never want you to be afraid of me. I...God, I just couldn't handle that. And you are so worth whatever we need to do to be together."

Blaine nuzzled into Kurt's neck, sighing in contentment. "I was also afraid that maybe even if you did want me like I want you, you wouldn't allow this to happen for all the reasons you'd said before. Because you own me. But no matter what, I am yours, Kurt. I belong to you in ways no paperwork or brand can compete." 

“God, Blaine,” Kurt whispered, his voice wet with tears. “I love you so much.”

And then Kurt wasn't the only one crying. Blaine hoped that this wasn't a dream, or if it was, that he'd never wake. He'd happily trade a thousand realities to stay in this dream just a little bit longer. Because there was no way this could be real. Fate wasn't this kind to Blaine. It was dark and heartless, placing him with parents willing to trade away a second son who wouldn't be giving them grandchildren in exchange for release from tax debts. Then, the very trait that made him superfluous to his family was exploited in the cruelest possible ways, over and over again. That was what fate gave to Blaine. He wasn't meant to know love. 

"I love you, too," Blaine croaked. Kurt clutched him impossibly tighter, sniffling a happy laugh.

As they swayed in slow circles, Blaine caught sight of Kitten, beaming at him from across the room. 'Pictures,' she mouthed, mimicking holding a camera. Blaine rolled his eyes at her fondly before tucking his head comfortably into Kurt's shoulder.  
___________________

The song eventually faded, and they dragged their weary bodies up to their hotel room. Given the hour, Kurt suggested hot chocolate instead of coffee. He sat across from Blaine on the small loveseat, their legs entwined as they talked.

"Blaine, I really, really want there to be an ‘us’. More than anything. But I need you to promise be honest with me. All the time." Kurt's eyes were glued to his mug, circling it in his hands absently as he spoke. “I couldn't bear it if I hurt you or if something was wrong and for whatever reason you were afraid to tell me. We have to communicate. That's the only way we have a chance at making this work." 

Blaine nodded in acceptance. "I get that. And I will, I promise. But, please, I need you to understand that years of conditioning can't be undone in just a few months. I'll probably freak out, get scared, and regress. Probably a lot." He swallowed. "Can you handle that? Because I need you to not back off and withdraw when I...get confused. I really want to be with you, so much. Can you be patient with me? Give me time to adjust?"

"I'd give so much more than time to be with you.” Kurt smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “This isn't going to be an easy thing for either of us, I get that. But I've cared about you, wanted you, for so long. And I never thought I'd get this chance.” He ducked his head, blushing faintly. "Besides, you know what a hopeless romantic I am. While I won't deny the occasional casual indiscretion, I much prefer taking things slowly." 

Blaine set his cup aside, rolling forward and maneuvering onto all fours. He knelt over Kurt's body, smiling at the way he felt Kurt’s heart pound as Blaine settled their chests together. Daringly, he pressed a chaste kiss against Kurt's soft lips, delighted when Kurt kissed back. "We can do this," Blaine promised. 

After sharing several sweet, gentle kisses, and one or two not so gentle ones, the exhausted pair moved to the bed. They curled up together as they had so many times before. But this time was different. 

Every casual touch or caress felt like so much more, a preamble for a future together. There was no sex, of course. Blaine wasn’t nearly ready for any kind of serious physical intimacy yet. But there was laughter, warmth, and snuggles aplenty. Exhaustion set in far too soon; it had been a hell of a day for both men. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s warm body, spooning him close and placing a soft kiss to the back of his neck as they curled together to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the weird paragraph breaks last chapter. It was editing oddly and after trying to fix it a whole bunch of times I gave up. I decided that It'll do, even if it doesn't read as smoothly as I'd prefer. I'm hoping this one doesn't do that.

The Sunday segment of the show was much more relaxed then the explosive energy of Saturday night's event. It consisted primarily of a long outdoor brunch that allowed the designers the opportunity to adorn their models in sundresses and light suits. Kurt seemed perfectly content to keep Blaine on his arm, though he noticed that Kitten always lurked close by, ready to step in should his owner be pulled away. 

The small gala featured a live orchestra, but Kurt was kept too occupied to dance. Blaine understood; meeting with potential backers was the reason Kurt did the show in the first place. And he wasn't sure that being seen romantically dancing with a slave was the best thing for Kurt's image, anyway. Midway through the afternoon, a large group of particularly influential individuals called Kurt to their table. Kurt looked at Blaine, clearly torn between bringing Blaine with him where he'd mostly likely be uncomfortable, or leaving him behind. 

Blaine smiled, pushing his owner gently towards the expectant group. "Go, make connections. Do your thing. I'll be fine," he promised. "Kitten's around to keep an eye on me."

Kurt bit his lip, looking uncertain, but at Blaine's urging he turned and walked to the table. Blaine watched as Kurt was heartily greeted and a seat made available for him, a Mimosa appearing magically at his arm. Blaine glanced around the courtyard, trying to decide what he should be doing now. 

"Well, hello," a familiar voice spoke from behind him. "It looks like Kurt's occupied. Why don't you come dance with me awhile ?" A strong hand settled on Blaine's elbow, tugging him towards the roped off dance area. Blaine turned sharply at the touch, stilling when he recognizing David, Chandler's fiance, smiling down at him. He swallowed nervously, but obediently followed Kurt's friend to the floor. 

It was with more than a little trepidation that Blaine allowed himself to be taken into the large man's hold, frantically glancing around for Kitten. He spotted her a moment later, leaning against a food table a few feet away and watching him in obvious amusement. Blaine relaxed fractionally when she didn't immediately come to his rescue. His ridiculously protective guardian wouldn't allow him to be handled if she wasn't completely sure that he was safe. Chandler appeared at Kitten's arm a moment later, whispering to her and tugging her away excitedly. Kitten glanced significantly at Dave who gave her a slight nod. Grinning happily, she let Chandler drag her off. 

Blaine wanted to follow, but Kitten clearly intended for him to stay put. Blaine took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. Despite the man's imposing size, Dave's grip on Blaine was gentle, his expression kind.

"Easy little one, I'm not going to hurt you," David assured him. "It's a toss up who would kill me first, your master or that psycho watchdog who just made off with my fiance." 

Blaine relaxed marginally, settling further into the arms around his waist. He was still a little nervous, but the people he trusted obviously believed he was safe with Dave.

"When I was a kid I always wanted a slave," Dave told him casually as they swayed. "Every time I had to clean my room or do chores, I envied the friends who had one of their own that they could just order to do that stuff." 

Blaine kept his eyes on the man's chest, deciding he wasn't required to respond. He would have been grateful to be purchased as a house slave. If he'd been a little less attractive, he might well have been used for that. It was one of the more common reasons to buy a slave. And it was typically a far gentler life then the one he'd known. 

"It's just as well I never did, I guess," Dave continued. "It probably wouldn't have been a great idea to have someone someone like you in the house during those late teenage years. Well, it might have made things different for me, and Kurt, for that matter. But I was...angry back then. And scared. I don't think I would have been a very kind owner." 

Blaine shivered slightly. He understood exactly what the man was implying. A teen in denial of his orientation might well use the house slave as an outlet for his true desires. And then take it out on the slave for wanting those things in the first place. Blaine had been used by any number of closeted men who specifically went to hotels to satisfy the needs that their wives and girlfriends couldn't. They tended to be fairly aggressive, their actions fueled by guilt and desperation.

"You're in a good place with Kurt, though," Dave continued. "He's never reacted with deliberate hostility in his life. Even when he had all the reasons in the world for it." The guilt that Blaine had sensed from the man earlier briefly resurfaced. Dave tucked a finger under Blaine's chin, raising the slave's head so they were eye to eye. "Kurt is one of the best people I've ever known. And he deserves to be happy, whatever odd form that happiness may take," he added that last part with a significant look. 

So, like everyone else in Kurt's entourage, Dave knew Kurt from school. Blaine had tugged a little away from his dancing partner while the man told his story, and he'd noticed that the man's grip on him had loosened accordingly, allowing him to gain some distance. Knowing that he had a choice in the contact calmed a lot of Blaine's nerves. 

"If you don't mind my asking, Sir, how does Kurt know Chandler?" Blaine asked, feeling safe enough to talk.

The larger man beamed, always happy to talk about his fiancè. "They met in a music shop. They're both theater nerds and hit it off right away. Figured out pretty early that they were both going to school in New York after graduation. I imagine it felt like fate at the time, especially for a pair of hopeless romantics like those two." David shrugged. 

"Anyway, they dated for a few months, long enough for Kurt to realize that that they weren't really compatible. Kurt being Kurt, he didn't want to hurt Chandler's feelings, so he decided to try his hand at a little matchmaking." David laughed at that. "He didn't even break up with him before introducing us. He just invited me out with them one night when they were home from school. It's a very good thing he did, too. I wouldn't have looked twice at the little dweeb if Kurt hadn't basically shoved him into my arms. But then, Kurt always did have a good eye for unlikely matches." 

Blaine couldn't help but agree; the couple seemed completely at odds. But if there was anything Kurt was good at, it was discovering odd pieces that could be combined to form a cohesive and beautiful whole. 

"Kurt looks like he's in a particularly good mood this morning," Dave murmured, changing the subject as he swayed Blaine's smaller body in an easy circle. 

"Yes?" Blaine answered politely. "The show was a great success for him. Mr. Kurt said some of the contacts he made could take him to a whole new level in the field." 

"Yes, I'm sure that's it," Dave agreed, his eyes crinkling in amusement. They danced a little longer, though Dave didn't say much more.

They were interrupted a short while later, when Kitten and Chandler came bounding back from whatever mischief they'd gotten into. Chandler looked slightly guilty, in sharp contrast to Kitten's gleefully unrepentant smile. 

"Tobias is going to have a very eventful afternoon," Chandler reported, chuckling a little. David rolled his eyes at the duo, but clearly decided not to ask. Blaine was curious, but kept his silence.

At first, Dave suggested trading partners, but Kitten quickly vetoed the plan. Instead, she secured a large pitcher of sangria and snagged Finn and Rachel the next time they walked past. She escorted the group to a secluded patio with a long, orate iron fence that she 'accidentally' locked behind them. 

Blaine curled up in a wide chair in the corner, rearranging himself a moment later when Kitten sprawled across his lap. Finn took over drink duty, handing out glasses to everyone. Feeling safe amid the group, Blaine shyly accepted some of the fruity wine when Finn offered it. Blaine had never had alcohol before, having become property of the government while still a relatively young teenager. He found the sweet wine tasted amazing and the effects surprisingly relaxing. 

Sam and Quinn arrived a bit later, having noticed that everyone in their entourage was curiously absent. The KH team spent the remainder of the afternoon that way, taking turns telling stories about their high school days. Chandler, cozied up next to his bear of a fiancé, took a few turns at storytelling as well, regaling the crew with stories from his and Kurt's college days. Blaine listened to it all, absorbing all he could of his owner's history in fascination. 

When Kurt eventually found them a good while later, Blaine wasn't drunk, exactly, but he was definitely happy, and very excited to see his owner. Kitten unlocked the patio door to let Kurt through, not looking even remotely guilty for hijacking the majority of the KH team. 

Kurt stared at the lot, taking in how happy and relaxed his friends were. He'd been more than a little annoyed when he realized that every one of his carefully styled models had disappeared from the show floor, but it was difficult to stay angry. Given how successful Saturday night had been, and since his team had been dutifully out and about during the vital morning brunch, Kurt decided not to have a fit. 

Kurt was more amused than upset when he discovered Blaine's less than sober state. It was hard to be angry when the slave wore such a dopily happy smile and was clearly having fun. Kurt thought Blaine was well overdue for any happiness he could get, not objecting when he noticed his half-brother discreetly topping off the slave's wine glass. He considered going back to the formal party, and decided he'd had as much of the self-absorbed overhyped guests as he could stand. Instead, Kurt took a seat with his friends, drinking mimosas and reliving some of the best, and occasionally humiliating, moments of their lives. 

The overhead speakers finally announced the end of the brunchen, and the KH crew made their way to their respective rooms for the evening. Kurt left a tipsy Blaine in their hotel room to nap off the lingering effects of the alcohol while he went downstairs to organize the relocation of what clothes he hadn't sold, as well as helping Finn get his supplies loaded back into the vans. They'd be leaving the hotel first thing in the morning. As exciting and productive as these shows could be, Kurt had had more than enough for the moment. He was ready to go home.  
************************

Blaine was surprised to discover that the house was almost entirely empty when they returned. Under Finn's management, a shipping crew had completed most of the work as soon as everyone left for the host hotel Saturday morning. Finn had seen the movers off before catching up with the Kurt and the team Saturday afternoon. The truck was already well on its way back to Kurt's home/main office in California. 

Blaine had always known that the house they'd been living in was a rental, but he hadn't ever really thought about their inevitable departure. Kurt had mentioned that he lived in the outskirts of LA. He'd also explained that he'd just opened a small but successful boutique in New York City that featured KH designs. Another one of his high school friends, Tina, lived there and managed it for Kurt. He promised to take Blaine there sometime to show him the wonders of his favorite city.

Blaine wandered around the nearly empty house, feeling a strong reluctance to leave the place where his life had changed so dramatically. Kurt noticed Blaine walking around looking a little lost and decided that they should spend the night in the rental home one last time, hoping it would help Blaine feel less overwhelmed by too many changes at once. Once they'd showered the effects of the road off and dressed in their lounging clothes, the pair settled on the couch, though it looked completely different to Blaine without the fancy throw that Kurt had always kept over it. Apparently the TV also belonged with the house since it was still there. Blaine snuggled close to his owner, relaxing while they watched some ridiculous reality TV . 

Kurt nuzzled at Blaine's neck where they lay entwined, wondering just how slow he should be taking things. Apparently not that slow, he decided, when Blaine shyly suggested going to Kurt's bed where it would be more comfortable. 

It started with kissing. Kissing was safe and comfortable, and once he'd started, Blaine never wanted to stop. When a hand gently tugged at Blaine's shirt he readily removed the fabric. His sleep pants quickly followed. If Kurt wanted access to Blaine's body, he was more than willing to comply. 

But it hadn't occurred to Blaine that Kurt's clothes could come off as well. Normally, it wasn't something he really thought about. If he was ordered to removed his or anyone else's clothing, he did it. Sex was all about orders. So when Blaine turned back around after shucking his pants, he was stunned to see Kurt's naked body lying beside him. Kurt's bright smiled slowly faded when Blaine seemed to lose his momentum. Kurt quickly grabbed a blanket and pulled it up to his chest.

"Is this too much, Love?" Kurt asked gently. "I don't have to be completely naked. It's just, you were taking everything off, so I thought..."

Blaine leaned forward and kissed Kurt quiet. "No, it's okay. I'm okay. I was just surprised," he chuckled ruefully. "Is it ridiculous to say that this is all new to me?"

"Not at all," Kurt replied with a soft smile. "And there's no rush, not for anything. If you want, some or all of the clothes go back on for now and we'll cuddle instead. That's perfectly okay."

Blaine bit his lip. Stopping didn't really seem all that appealing. Especially with an almost naked Kurt mere inches from him. "I...thank you. But, if it's okay, I realized that you've seen me naked plenty of times, but I've never even seen you without a shirt on. It just doesn't seem fair to me." He gazed at Kurt, giving what he hoped was a playful smile.

Apparently he was successful, because Kurt grinned, the spark back in his eyes. "No, it doesn't, does it? Maybe we should fix that. So talk to me gorgeous; tell me what you'd like."

"Can I look, and maybe touch a little ?" Blaine asked hesitantly, placing one hand on Kurt's blanket covered knee.

"Sweetheart, you can look and touch me all you want," Kurt reassured. "I promise. I'm actually prepared to beg," he added teasingly 

Encouraged, Blaine slid up to his knees and reached a shaking hand out to the blanket, pulling the fabric completely away and baring all of Kurt's body. Kurt was gorgeous. Acres of pale, luminescent skin over firm muscle, all splayed out for Blaine to explore. Long hours of holding his arms up to stitch and cut had left Kurt with lean, muscular arms. His abdominal muscles weren't nearly as defined as Sam's, but Kurt definitely sported a handsome six-pack, his torso tapering into a trim waist. Kurt's chest was completely hairless, the beginning of a faint blonde treasure trail starting just below his navel. Blaine tracked the line of fine hair with his eyes, down to Kurt's very erect cock. He was cut, long, and a little wider than average. It curved up, resting heavily on Kurt's abdomen. Blaine was distantly aware that there was more of Kurt below, miles of legs, in fact, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the impressive erection. 

Licking his lips nervously, Blaine placed a hand on Kurt's naked thigh. He glanced up, seeking permission, approval, maybe encouragement. Kurt's eyes were wide and dark and he was breathing heavily. Sensing Blaine's hesitance, Kurt slowly leaned until he was completely on his back, sitting up on his forearms so he could watch Blaine explore. 

"Anything you want, Love," Kurt promised. 

Reassured that everything was okay, Blaine reached forward and touched the silky skin of Kurt's shaft. He'd held hundreds of penis' in his time. But this was something completely new. For once, he had no agenda, no one glaring over him or any expectations to maintain. Experimentally, Blaine gave a slow stroke, loving the way Kurt's breath hitched at the touch. The experience was so very different when he had a choice in the matter. Blaine felt...powerful. Thenk Kurt whimpered, and Blaine looked into Kurt's eyes, seeing love and desire reflected back in them.

Blaine took his hand off Kurt's dick and surged forward, taking his owner's mouth in a deep kiss. Kurt kissed back, moaning when Blaine pressed his naked body against Kurt's.

"This...this is okay, right?" Blaine confirmed, panting.

"So okay," Kurt promised. 

Blaine felt a growing heat between his legs and realized in surprise that he was hard. He reached a hand hesitantly between his own legs and gripped his thickening cock. God, it felt good. It made sense to him now, why all those people had wanted him. Because this felt amazing. But Blaine didn't want to think about them; they didn't matter. Only Kurt did. And Kurt was watching intently as Blaine stroked himself.

"I can do this, right?" Blaine asked hesitantly, pausing his hand's motion on his own body.

"Oh, yes," Kurt replied instantly, a little breathlessly. "I'm really, really okay with you doing that."

Blaine laughed a little at Kurt's eager response, and stroked himself again. 

"Don't take this the wrong way," Kurt began. He turned reaching under Blaine's pillow to remove a small, partially full bottle of lubricant, blushing. "I had no expectations, I swear. I just, well, it's been there for a while. I kinda needed it...a lot since you started sleeping with me." He dropped his eyes. "It was a very good thing for me that you always leave to use your own shower." 

Oh. Blaine decided he liked that. Hesitantly, he took the bottle. He placed a dollop in his hand, smoothing and warming the liquid, then slowly reached down and took his cock in a firm grip.

Kurt watched, fascinated while Blaine slowly and deliberately stroked himself off. The slave's eyes drifted shut, lost to the rush of pleasure of his slick hand on his dick. He hoped Blaine wouldn't be upset by his staring, he hadn't seemed to mind earlier. Because there was no way Kurt could tear his eyes from the vision before him. Blaine was so distracted by the incredible feeling that his orgasm caught him completely by surprise. He fell to all fours as the explosive burst of pleasure ripped through him. He stayed that way, eyes closed, panting heavily as he came down from the incredible high. As soon as he'd calmed a bit, Blaine stiffened, the all too familiar sensation of nauseating fear pooling in his belly. This was okay; it had to be okay. Kurt wouldn't be mad at him. Kurt had said anything, and he hadn't stopped him. But he'd never specifically said Blaine was allowed to come either. What if that was more than Blaine was allowed to do? Or maybe Kurt had wanted him to do something else and he'd be mad? Before Blaine could freak himself out any further, he looked up into Kurt's face for answers to his unasked questions. He relaxed when he saw that his owner looked anything but angry.

Kurt's cheeks were tinged pink, his pupils clearly dilated, and he looked stunned, his lips curved in a dopey smile. "That was really hot," he told Blaine breathlessly. Kurt pulled Blaine's sated body against his own, pulling them both down onto the bed. "Tell me that isn't the first time that you..."

"No," Blaine murmured, relief and a rocking orgasm leaving him giddy. "I mean, every once in a while I'd be ordered to perform for someone...and I think, maybe a long time ago, before...before everything. I think maybe I did it then."

He hugged Kurt close. "But it's never been like that before. I've never felt anything like that. I'd remember. That was amazing."

Blaine leaned back, eyes going wide as he realized something. "But you didn't, I mean, should I..."

Kurt laughed pushing Blaine back a little further to reveal Kurt's own cock, spent and soft. "You umm, you looked really really hot..." he murmured. "I hope you don't mind, but I couldn't really help myself, and..."

Blaine kissed him, taking his time use tongue and make it dirty, the way he was just discovering Kurt really loved. "It's more than okay. I'm glad I could make you feel good, too. But next time, I think I want to be touching you, or at least get to see it. If that's okay."

Kurt laughed. He reached down for his sleep pants and quickly wiped them both off. It wasn't ideal but it was close enough. They could shower in the morning. He pulled Blaine back into his arms, thrilled as always when Blaine happily cuddled into his chest. That Blaine had such trust, that he still wanted this after everything that had happened to him, it took his breath away. Blaine was the bravest person Kurt had ever known. 

"Anything you want, Love. Eventually, we'll do it all, " Kurt promised, falling quickly to sleep. Blaine followed just behind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. My last chapter. Plus an epilogue, of course. I have a few snippets to put up, and then I'll start on my sequel, Patchwork. It's already written so I should have it up fairly quickly. Thank you to everyone who read this story and enjoyed it! And double thanks for the Kudos and reviews. Every one of you are totally awesome.

The drive was a long one, but Blaine enjoyed every minute of it. Just spending time with Kurt, talking about nothing while the miles fell away; it was cathartic in a way Blaine couldn’t have imagined. He’d gone from the hotel straight into working towards the show, and hadn’t given much thought to afterwards. But now it really felt like he was leaving it all behind. Blaine had no idea what the future would hold for him, but as long as he was spending it with the man across from him, it didn’t much matter. Blaine had been reduced to simply existing for so long, without the energy or will to think from one day to the next. But everything was different now, and Blaine was ready to start living.

Blaine hadn’t been sure what to expect when the van finally pulled up the long driveway to Kurt’s home. It was just as well that he hadn’t tried to guess; there was no way he could have predicted just what his new home would be like.

Kurt's house was awesome. 

The large, two-story brownstone was clearly Kurt's love child. It was located in a sparsely inhabited neighborhood about an hour from the outskirts of the LA but not far from a small but budding business district. The front yard was decidedly cheerful, with well-tended greenery lining the path to the brightly painted front porch. In contrast to the welcoming front view, a high privacy fence protected the large backyard, preventing nosy neighbors and the unnecessarily curious from intruding. Kurt had grinned unrepentantly when he caught Blaine staring at the elegant wooden beams that completely blocked the back area. He recited the old adage that good fences and good neighbors.

Kurt took Blaine in through the backyard first, the slave’s eyes going wide when he saw the huge in-ground pool that took up a significant portion of the backyard. The water was clear and alluring, and already filled with half-brother. Finn waved at them cheerfully from his spot in a donut raft, a little floating drink holder floating by his hand. 

The pool featured a twisty water slide on one corner that Blaine found himself dying to try the instant he laid eyes on it. Later, once Kurt was safely out of earshot, Finn explained to Blaine how the slide could be set up against the roof so that a person could climb out a second story window and slide directly into the pool from the roof. But there was a trick to it, he warned, since the second floor was almost entirely dedicated to Kurt's workspace and the designer was somewhere up there more often than not, and hiding what Kurt considered a highly dangerous and unnecessary game could be challenging.

The interior of the house was even more amazing then the outside. There were six bedrooms on the first floor, as well as a large living room. As with the rental home, Kurt’s room and the one he’d chosen for Blaine were near each other at one end of the long, lushly carpeted hallway. 

The kitchen was open and spacious, with a long breakfast bar separating it from the dining room area. The dark, coffee colored shades of the eating area looked amazing against the lavender window treatments that Kurt had chosen. It created a look that was both elegant and soothing. 

While escorting Blaine through his tour of the house, Kurt explained that Finn was the only one who lived with him permanently, though his home served as a sort of a revolving door for any number of friends and family. Finn had claimed a large room on the other end of the house when the business had taken off and he’d moved to LA to start working full-time for Kurt. 

Every room that Blaine was shown during his tour was tastefully decorated in a variety of colors and patterns. Each meticulously decorated space had its own theme but shared just enough familial touches to mesh well with the house overall. The house had no basement, but there was a well-equipped exercise gym retrofitted from a mudroom near the back yard.

The front door opened into a large front room filled with comfy looking furniture and a baby grand piano tucked into one corner. Blaine spent several long minutes staring wistfully at the piano before turning away. He’d considered asking Kurt about allowing him to try and play something, but the long buried memories the instrument evoked in him were more then Blaine cared to deal with at the moment.

The living room sported a giant flat-screened TV, clearly Finn's work, with a blu ray player and several different video game consoles hooked up. A wide shelf set in a corner was filled with DVD's organized by genre and alphabetized in their given subset. 

All of Kurt’s home was beautiful, but Blaine was particularly charmed by what hid behind the double set of carved wooden doors other side of hall from Kurt's room. He’d ushered Blaine into the space with a shy smile, opening the doors to reveal a bright, warm library. The walls were a rich blue with almost cheesy gold trim. Kurt admitted to Blaine with a blush that he'd deliberately channeled Beauty and the Beast when decorating it. He explained that even as a child his favorite Disney Prince was a man who wooed his love interest by giving her a library.

If Blaine hadn't already been completely in love with Kurt, he would've been by the end of the tour. The designer’s creativity and fine eye for detail permeated every nook of the house. The very ambience was so very warm and inviting. Blaine couldn't imagine a place he'd rather call home. When Kurt nervously asked if he liked it, Blaine had pulled him close for a deep kiss rather than resorting to something as inarticulate as mere words to explain just how in love he was with his new home.

Once they’d finished the tour of the house, Kurt sat them down to discuss options for Blaine's room. Initially, he’d tried to tell Kurt that he didn't need a room since they’d just be sleeping together. Kurt had disputed that sentiment and won. 

Kurt explained that Blaine needed his own space for quiet, peace, as well as a place to go when he was pissed off at Kurt. Apparently, Kurt took it for granted that they would argue during their relationship, potentially often. Blaine wondered what his previous dating experiences had been like for his owner to make that assumption. But Blaine had finally given in when Kurt made his second point; while he might be convinced to yield a drawer or two, Kurt was under no circumstances giving up an entire closet. Blaine's room was right next to his and had its own giant walk-in closet. It did make sense, and Blaine finally accepted the offer. It wasn’t as if he had to stay in the room, anyway.  
**********

Blaine sat on a corner of the king sized bed in his new room with one leg tucked under him, staring at the walls. He wasn't being introspective; he was trying to picture them a different color. Kurt had encouraged him to redecorate the room any way he liked and Blaine had decided to give it a shot. Now, he just needed to figure out what he wanted to do with it. As a gay man, he knew he was expected to have some psychic, genetic, super-knowledge of interior design. Kurt certainly had the gene in spades. But Blaine was at a loss. Apparently he'd been absent for too long, because Kurt wandered in a short while later and sat beside him.

"How about we go to home depot tomorrow and look at paint swabs?" Kurt suggested casually, without needing to ask what had his boyfriend looking so glum.  


Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt close and pressed his mouth against his boyfriend's, an action that was quickly becoming one of Blaine's favorite things.

"I..ah..mm, guess that's a yes?" Kurt asked around Blaine's tongue, sliding a hand under his shirt to stroke along his lover's warm back. Blaine smiled into the kiss, far too busy to answer.  
\--------------------  
The first night the couple were together in Kurt’s, well, their bed, started out as more awkward than sexy. Blaine was still a little nervous about sexual activities, and Kurt worried that he'd inadvertently put unwanted pressure on Blaine to do something the slave wasn’t really ready for. 

After several awkward mis-starts, they finally gave up on any specific sex acts. Instead, Kurt guided them down until they were lying side by side on the mattress where they lazily made out, a simple pleasure that came naturally to them both. Then kissing evolved into touching, something Blaine particularly enjoyed since Kurt was happy to let Blaine undress him bit by bit and take as much time as he wanted to touch and explore at his own pace.

It was almost by accident that the men found themselves sliding their naked erections against one another's. They’d been pressed chest to chest, Kurt naked and Blaine down to a pair of snug red boxer briefs. Blaine had a well-lubed fist locked around Kurt’s cock, leisurely pumping the organ while Kurt panted and writhed for him. Blaine leaned in a little to claim Kurt’s sweet lips in a kiss, and his own cloth covered erection had pressed against Kurt’s. The contact was electric, and moments later the slave was kicking off his underwear and frantically rocking into Kurt.

Blaine discovered a new world of joy in Kurt's body that night, so caught up in pleasurable want/need/God more! that he forgot to worry about what he was supposed to be doing or whether it was allowed. Instead, he let go of conscious thought, focused instead on the soft hands and warm lips moving against his skin. Kurt's moan and the stutter of his hips as he came against Blaine nearly sent the slave over the edge. WIthout thought, Blaine sped up his pace, moaning at the feel of smooth, slippery skin against his cock. When pleasure finally overcame control, Blaine experienced his first voluntary orgasm with another person. 

As Blaine's body came down from the most incredible rush, silent tears began to trickle from his eyes. Seconds later he was all out sobbing. Blaine felt ridiculous, a veteran pleasure slave crying like a virgin, but he couldn't seem to stop. 

After establishing that Blaine wasn't hurt or regretting their intimacy, Kurt held him close, not trying to shush him or stop the outpouring of tears. Instead, Kurt stayed as he was, simply providing a quiet, calming presence, allowing Blaine work out the gamut emotions however he needed to. Eventually, both physically and mentally exhausted, as well as sated in the most amazing way, Blaine settled. He was curled up comfortably, feeling secure and safe in Kurt's strong embrace.

So this was what 'home' felt like. Blaine had never imagined that such a feeling was possible for him. With that last happy thought, Blaine relaxed into sleep.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for everyone who stayed with me! Stay tuned for Patchwork if you want more of this 'verse.

"Kurt, I need to talk to you," Rachel Berry announced brightly as she strode into the sunny room of Kurt's home work area. Kurt looked up from where he knelt in front of a mannequin. Blaine, curled up on the padded window seat, put down his homework curiously. 

Blaine had started taking online college courses from a local university in Kurt's name. He could never officially get a degree, of course, but he was still thrilled with the chance to be learning again, in any capacity. Most of his current classes consisted of pre-requisites and electives while he decided what type of major he wanted to pursue. The couple had argued for a while about that one. 

Kurt wanted Blaine to do whatever he liked most, but Blaine wanted to take business administration, or advertising, something that would allow him to help Kurt with actually running his thriving business. Blaine was considering photography as a compromise. He was loving the intro class, plus it was also something he could do to promote Kurt Hummel Designs. The cost of materials for photography classes was prohibitive, but Kurt never hesitated when it came to spending money on Blaine's education. Blaine had agreed to the classes only after Kurt had his accountant show Blaine how much the standing pay rate was for KH models. If Blaine was actually paid for his work, even at the lowest fee a model of that level commanded, he would easily earn most of his tuition in a year.

"Of course Rachel, what's up?" Kurt stopped working and set down his pins so he could focus on his giddy friend.

Rachel perched on one of the chairs for all of a second before popping back up again. "My three week showing of Wicked was hugely successful, as you know." 

Kurt nodded. "I've heard you mention that once or twice," he teased. Blaine chuckled from his seat. Rachel had been the understudy for Elphaba when halfway through the show's run, the lead had gotten mono and had to be pulled from the production and the role passed on. Rachel had risen magnificently to the challenge, taking to the character like she'd been born for it.

"Yes, well," Rachel continued blithely. "The investors got together and decided the show should go on the road. They asked me if I'd go." 

"Rachel that's fantastic!" Blaine enthused, rising from his spot, and enclosing their friend in a hug. He'd tirelessly assisted Rachel in practicing for her audition, playing Fiero so masterfully that Rachel frequently complained that the current actor brought her performance down. 

Rachel grinned at them both. "Wait, you've got to hear the best part. They didn't ask Sandra!" It was no secret that Rachel had no love for the uppity starlet she'd replaced. 

"So, that's it? You're her? The Wicked Witch of the West?" Kurt couldn't have been more delighted if he'd been cast in the roll himself.

Rachel nodded, beaming at her friends.

"We definitely need to celebrate!" Kurt announced brightly, bouncing a little. He turned to Blaine, "would you see if Jacque is working?" 

Jacque was ma”tre de to a local high-end restaurant. He had no problem with Kurt bringing his unusual boyfriend to the restaurant for a date. And Jacque never failed to make certain that the couple was attended by servers who were more interested in the size of their tip then in Blaine's collar. 

"That sounds amazing, and I'm totally in, but that's not what I really need to talk to you about." Rachel replied while Blaine checked the website to see who was working at the restaurant. She sighed. "I'm contracted to do the run for six months. There's no way I can do Wicked and still model for your next show." 

Kurt, while saddened, wasn't terribly surprised. The Winter Carnival Fashion Show was several months away and he hadn't even started on Rachel's clothes yet. There was more than enough time to look for a replacement. He'd always known he couldn't keep Rachel forever but he'd miss his friend, not to mention the way the petite brunette owned the catwalk. 

"That's fine," Kurt replied, honesty happy for her. "I totally understand. Don't worry about me, you have much bigger fish to fry."

"Jacque isn't on, but he just texted me that he called the manager and they have staff on that are fine with me," Blaine told them, smiling warmly at Rachel. "I booked us for 7p, if that's okay." 

"Perfect," she agreed, and Kurt nodded. "So," Rachel began, flashing her trademark megawatt smile. "This gives you plenty of time to design my gown for the celebration after my first performance, right? It wouldn't be a show if I wasn't wearing my own Kurt Hummel original design."

Kurt grinned. "As if I'd allow you to show up wearing anyone else. There's no one else out there good enough to show those posers just how gorgeous Rachel Berry is. Just make sure to name drop me a few times."

Rachel nodded. "Of course. Well, I need to go tell more people the fantastic news, but I'll meet you both at seven," she hugged Kurt one more time before turning to leave.

"Finn's in the pool," Blaine called out helpfully as Rachel bounced away, well aware of who she really meant by 'more people'.

Kurt sighed, watching her go. It was always hard watching friends leave, especially someone who was as close to him as Rachel. But he couldn't be upset, this was a fantastic opportunity for his friend.

"Um, Kurt?" Blaine asked tentatively. "If you're in need of a petite, gorgeous brunette, I might have a suggestion."

\-----------------  
Santana walked through the hall, trying to hide her exhaustion. She wasn't a spring chicken anymore and harsh use had aged her body prematurely. At 21 years, she was the oldest service slave on the roster. She was well aware that the new blood called her Grandma behind her back, but they never dared say it to her face. At least she still had her reputation as a scary bitch. 

God, she hated the plain brown walls. And the endless doors. And the clients. Actually, she pretty much hated everything. After waiting out an agitated gurgle from her empty stomach, Santana knocked on yet another neutral door, waiting for permission to enter. She hoped to finish this call quickly; she hadn't eaten in a few days and knew she'd start with the shakes pretty soon if she didn't earn some food. Santana realized that the door had been left slightly ajar about the same time that a light voice called from inside the room, prompting her to enter.

Santana walked in as ordered, striking her usual sexy pose and pasting a sultry look on face. "You called for me, Sir?"

A young man sat on the bed, legs crossed, wearing an elegant, exquisitely tailored suit. His hair was perfectly coifed and he carried himself with poise and confidence. "I did, indeed. You're Santana, right?"

Santana sized the guy up, looking from his perfect clothes to his angelically boyish face and the hairdo, wondering who the fuck he thought he was fooling calling for her. Maybe the guy was just seriously delusional. Not her problem, it was his $50, he could blow it anyway he wanted. 

"Yeah, that's me. How may I please you, Sir?"

"Actually, it's not me I called you for, exactly. It's for my friend."

Well, that made much more sense. Santana smiled enticingly. "It's my pleasure to satisfy whomever you'd like me to."

"Hold that thought, he's in the bathroom."

Santana tried to hide her impatience. God, this was going to take all fucking night. The toilet flushed and a handsome man in an equally well-styled and expensive outfit emerged. His eyes lit up when he saw Santana and he lunged for her, locking his strong arms around her waist, hugging tightly. Startled, Santana forced herself to relax into the stranger's embrace.

"It's so good to see you, Satan! I was really worried that we'd be too late. I've missed you so much," a familiar voice spoke into her ear.

Santana yanked the young man to arms length, staring wide-eyed. "Poodle?" she whispered, stunned. There was no way the hot young man in front of her could be her old friend.

"Of course it's me," Blaine told her, smiling warmly. His golden eyes met hers, shining with the same gentle sweetness as when she'd first met the boy. Santana had taken one look at the lad and taken him under her wing before the other bitches in the stables ate the poor kid alive. There was nothing she could do about his function, though. 

She'd watched helplessly as he slowly changed, that spark all but dying under consistently brutal use and starvation. And now that warmth was back, brighter then she remembered. He positively glowed with something she'd never seen in him before. It took her a minute to recognize the emotion, and then she realized...it was happiness. 

After she got over her initial shock, Santana took a wary step back, eyeing her old friend and the Client sitting calmly on the bed in confusion. "What's going on, Blaine?" She ran her gaze down his body appraisingly.

Blaine looked good, great even. He'd gained weight and radiated a confidence she'd never seen in him. He wore his expensive outfit like he felt at home in such finery and an elite leather collar circled his tan neck perfectly. Blaine glanced over at the man on the bed, raising a manicured eyebrow. "Well?"

The man made a show of looking her up and down. Reflexively, Santana struck a pose, waiting to be told what exactly the fuck was going on and what was expected of her. After a moment he nodded, smiling warmly at Blaine. "She'll do." 

The man stood and headed for the door. "Take your time, okay?" His smile turned impish. "I think I"ll just go down to the bar and see how many people offer to buy me a drink." 

Blaine quickly stepped forward, catching the young man's arm and tugging him back for a deep, possessive kiss. The man responded heartily to the gesture, nuzzling briefly against Blaine's neck before stepping away. "Be careful, okay?" Blaine murmured. "Call me if you need help getting back. You have your phone?" 

"Of course. Spend some time with your friend. Just text me when I can come back up." Kurt gave them both a quick wave and slipped out the door, leaving Blaine and Santana alone. They stared at each other for a minute.

"He seems..." Santana began.

"Nice?" Blaine interjected in amusement.

"I was going to say 'fuckable' but sure, we'll go with that." 

Santana walked over and plopped on the bed, patting the mattress in invitation. Blaine moved to join her when he heard a knock at the door. Gesturing for Santana to stay put, he answered it warily. A minute later he returned with a goofy smile on his face, carrying two pizzas. 

"These are for us," he informed his old friend and mentor, setting the boxes on the bed, unconcerned about grease stains. Blaine whipped out a smart phone, his fingers dancing expertly over the keys. 

Santana snorted, breaking into the pizza box without hesitation. It was a meat-lovers, not that she cared; it was food. Something about the pizza had Blaine chuckling to himself but she decided to ignore it; she had more important issues. 

"Im sure your probably aware of this, but you look fucking fantastic," Santana told him around a mouthful of hot, cheesy perfection. And holy shit, bacon. "And you'd better start answering some damn questions. What's with the posh outfit? Is that the guy who bought you? What have you been doing? And most importantly, just what in the seven fucks is going on, here?

Blaine plopped down beside her, taking a slice of pizza. "I am fantastic; yes, he is; and that's a long and very dramatic story. I'll tell it all to you in a little bit, I promise. First things first though. I have a question for you." Santana gestured for him to go ahead, stuffing her mouth with cheese. 

Blaine grinned at his friend. "What do you know about fashion?" 

THE END.


End file.
